Mother's Day

As much as I complain about my kid, she really is amazingly adorable and wonderful.  This morning after sleeping in until a whopping 8:30 am, as I came down the stairs Lila came speeding through the house smashing her shoulder on the doorway to yell "Happy Mother's Day" at the top of her lungs for me.  Now, I knew she hurt herself, but she was trying SO HARD to be strong and brave and I saw her little lip quivering but she refused to cry.

Next she gave me my presents...a leather bracelet she picked out for me at Target because "It's rockin'" and a pretty little book she made for me at preschool. 

Well, they spelled my name wrong but you have to love a 3 year old's perception of age!

Seriously, how fucking cute are my kid's answers?

I LOVE HER.

Then she presented me with the gift her and her Mia (Ben's mom) made for me over the course of the last two weekends.  It's a MAILBOX!

I blotted out the names and address.  Sorry stalkers!

Seriously.  I have never ben so happy to have this little on to take care of and I hope that you all can find joy in your special day as well!

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY, MOMMIES!

I sure feel sexy. Here's your dirty facts.

WOW!  I have never won anything in my life and now it turns out that there's TWO people who love me!

So in the spirit of fulfilling my obligation and in order to claim my prize (s), I am going to meet the prerequisite demands that such an honor requires.

First off, thank you to NEVE at Edge of Crazy for this one:

In order to claim this, I have to tell a really naughty juicy secret about myself:

I was kind of a groupie. 

No seriously.  There was a band in the 90's (who I will not mention) but they were big enough to have a top 40 hit and if you heard their songs on the radio, you'd be all like, "I remember these guys!  What the hell happened to them?"  I LOVED them and swore that I would find my way onto their tour bus one way or another. 

I met the drummer when I was 18 at one of their shows and he got me drunk and we made out on the tour bus.  We exchanged phone numbers or whatever and I thought that would be the end of it.  Three days later he called me just to chat and we had several months of phone sex while he was on the road.  That fizzled out when he went back home, and he stopped calling so I just assumed it was over. 

The following spring (about 3 months later) he called to tell me he'd be doing a show nearby.  So I got all slutted up and showed up at his hotel and did all the dirty things we talked about months before.  


On a tour bus in Toronto.  Yes, that IS a leopard-print shirt
he's wearing.  Oh, and it was mine.

They did many shows in the Northeast around that time and I dragged my friend along to as many as I could.  Then they played a show in my hometown.  My mother insisted I bring him to our neighborhood bar and he hung out and smoked pot with my uncle and my mother and her friends oooh'd and ahhhh'd about a real-life rock star in the bar (lame, I know). 

I got to meet some other cool people when they did a festival-type show, including Iggy Pop (which really was the high point of that time period).

When he went home, I understood that it was over and he had a life to return to so that was that. 

SO there's my dirty little secret.  I really hope my kid never reads this.

..........................................

The other award comes from Kristy at Pampers and Pinot. 
She said I have been making her laugh lately and then my last two posts were kind of a huge pity party so I suppose that just illustrates that I really am "versitile".

For this one I have to tell you all 7 fantastic (or not) random facts about me.  So here they are:

1.  I haven't worn shorts or a skirt above my ankles in about 7 years (and I lived in Arizona for 4 of those).  I have dermatillomania and if you google it try not to look at the pictures because those will give you nightmares.  Mine is a less extreme (but still kind of bad) version of that and I only do it to my legs for some reason.  Right now they're nice and smooth (but horribly scarred) and I am praying I can get to the summer and be able to take my kid to the beach for the first time this year without being ashamed.

2. When I had my second ultrasound I totally freaked out the tech girl by telling her I needed to see my baby's arms to make sure she didn't have claws.  I also made her tell me she did not have horns.

I was pretty sure I THIS
is what I would see

3. I used to have fantastic boobs (the "nice rack award" made me think of this one).  I LOVED them and used to show them off to anyone who would have a look.  I always thought that if I gained weight that they would be larger, more voluptuous versions of what I had.  WRONG.  They're pretty much the same size only flatter and closer to my belly-button.

Yeah...I was THAT girl...


4. I drink at least 6 cups of coffee every day.

5. I am still pissed off about the ending of Lost.  I realize it's been nearly a year and that it was just a TV show, but fuck that shit!  The show consumed me for about 6 years and it turns out they all just "go to the light"?  Seriously?  I have dreams sometimes about all the better possible endings that would have made the whole story make sense.  Maybe I should be writing for TV.

6. My kid is exactly like me.  Seriously.  I really feel sorry for her father because all the shit I get annoyed with is shit I do to him.

7. Blogging has changed my life.  I know this is cheese-ballish but it's true.  I think I desperately needed an outlet for all the ramblings in my head and having a bunch of people read my thoughts and respond and "get it" has made all the difference in the world for me.  I have never had a huge group of friends but I feel like the people who read my blog and comment and appreciate what I say are like the buddies I don't have out here in the real world.  And I am forever grateful for you all.


ps.  I was looking at the old blog I kept on the myspace and it was fucking AWESOME!  But no one uses the myspace anymore.  I may need to cut and paste all these absurd posts somewhere for reference when I am depressed.

p.p.s  I know I need to pass these awards on, but since my kid broke my laptop (AGAIN...FUCK YOU NICK JR.COM!!) I am working on this ancient computer in Ben's office and everything takes three times as long.  SO I am going to think about it and post my awards later.  Stay tuned.

They like me...they really like me!

Well what do you know?  I have received my first blogging award from Kristy over at Pampers and Pinot. 

I will be back later to generate random facts and then pass this along to the next round of deserving bloggers.

In the meantime, go visit Kristy's blog and give her some comment love.  She's funny and expressive and her blog is very nice to look at.

-Selena

Just Trust Me

Three year olds do NOT like changes in their routines.  Actually, they don't generally feel so happy about things that ARE routine either, but that's another post.

Every day after work, I pick Lila up and we drive home the same way.  We take the back way, BEHIND the diner, over the train tracks, past the furniture store, over the bridge with the trains parked underneath, and onto the highway.  From there we drive past the lake and through downtown until we get to our exit and during that time, I usually have to answer a thousand questions about my day, the trains, traffic, the mall, birds, skyscrapers and anything else that Lila happens to think of as her mind wanders through our regular route.

But today is special.  It is November and Thanksgiving is next week so I know something that she doesn't.  So just as we pass the mall, I get into the right lane and she notices the off-ramp approaching.  I look in the rear-view mirror and see panic in her eyes.

"WHY ARE YOU GOING THIS WAY?" she says, doing her best impression of me when I want her to stop whatever annoying thing she's doing.

"We're taking a detour, sweetie.  I have something I want you to see."  I smile into the mirror as I take the curve a little too fast and come to a stop at the red light under the overpass.

"I don't LIKE detours!  I WANT TO GO HOME! I WANT TO GO HOME!  I WANT TO GO HOOOOOME!!!!"

The light turns green and we take the left turn that will bring it into sight.  "Lila, sweetie.  Can't you just trust me? You are going to LOVE what I am showing you.  If you just stop screaming and acting like a maniac and look up ahead, you will see it in about 30 seconds."

She continues to scream and throw as much of a fit as is possible while tightly strapped into the car seat with her billowy purple winter coat puffing out around the straps.  I see it coming into view, but she refuses to look and keeps yelling at me.

Another red light.

"Lila.  Liii-la. LI-LA!"  She looks at me through the grimacing and pouty face.  I point.  "LOOK."

She isn't really sure what she's looking at yet.  She sees SOMETHING up there...different colors and brighter lights and this is enough to get her to stop the tantrum.

Light turns green.

As we approach, she begins to make it out and I look back again and she's making a little "o" with her mouth now.  "THEY PUT UP THE CHRISTMAS LIGHTS!!!  AND THERE'S THE TREE!  AND THEY ARE GETTING READY FOR ICE SKATING!  AND THERE'S DECORATIONS ON THE STREET LIGHTS!"  Now she is smiling.  Not just smiling, but beaming!  "When will they light up the Christmas tree?" She asks, eyes full of anticipation.

"Next weekend," I tell her as I put on my right signal and pull over next to the square.  "Wanna go?"

"YEAH" she says, half laughing and half trying to be cool.

"What do you think?" I ask.  "Wasn't that detour worth taking?  I mean, we can just get back on the highway and not take detours anymore if you want."

"NOOOO."  She says.  "I think we should take this detour all the time!"

"Great," I think.  "So now the normal, quick, easy way home will be the tantrum-inducing detour now."  I realize that dinner is going to be  little later every night.  At least for the next month or so.  But it's worth the look of wonder in her eyes right now.

Find more photos at http://www.davidmetraux.com/centralny.html

This was based on a prompt feom the Red Dress Club about taking a detour.

 

A strange kind of deprivation

I deprive myself of basic things that most people don’t think twice about. I tell myself that I deprive myself because money is tight. Or it just isn’t necessary. But I would LOVE to stop wearing maternity pants and have some clothes that fit me. Or Bras, or moisturizer that promises beautiful skin or makeup that hides my dark undereye circles. These are not necessarily luxuries. I mean, if I lived in the slums in South America, I would hardly be worried about these things, but they are not the same as $500 shoes or a $10,000 piece of jewelry.  But then I think they kind of are.

  

Every day I choose between deprivation and indulgence. I seem to choose indulgence only when the reward is fleeting, like having a $15 lunch. If I told Ben that I needed some cash for bras that fit my post-baby boobs, he would surly help me out. But I would rather not ask him, and then spend the rest of my day feeling bitter that I can’t go out and get them. Not being fully exposed, nipples and all, every time the kid yanks on my neckline is not really something that I should feel is an indulgence. As that one comedian said “How can ‘instantly improve vision’ not be at the top of your priorities?” And yet, it isn’t. So obviously silly and yet so true. It just isn’t.

It is a strange “neurotic deprivation” and I want to know why I do it.

When I was younger my mother never needed anything fancy. She used generic maxi pads. She used whatever lotion happened to be in the house. She bought pantyhose and earrings at the dollar store. She was not a fancy woman. And yet, every so often, I would hear her arguing with my father and saying things like “Can’t I just have anything nice?...Don’t I deserve something special once in a while?”

I never understood this. We were not poverty stricken. Money was tight but we always had a roof and food and enough to have fun outings. My mother worked and would take me shopping when she got paid and spend ridiculous amounts of money on clothes and toys that would only see daylight once or twice.

I used to call her “the martyr”- always making sacrifices just so that she could complain about them and have everyone feel that she was a Goddamned hero. It made me crazy. I used to drag her into the Women’s clothing sections of fancy department stores and try to force her to spend $30 on a shirt. But she acted just as happy with a $10 one from Kmart….most of the time…

But then there would be a stressful day or my dad would forget Mother’s Day (again) and my mother would get hysterical and I would see that she felt deprived. True, it was often her choice to live like that. In the moment, she felt that she would rather take care of us than take care of herself. But wasn’t she entitled to her own care? If she always gave up nice stuff so that we could have things, who was giving things up for her?

But in truth, it’s deeper than this. I could see it all the time. She walked around like she didn’t deserve to have nice things. Because it was us or her. And we always won. But then she somehow knew that she did. She felt like she was missing out. All the time. She didn’t take care of herself because she had no pride in herself, she showed her pride through me. She loved me more than herself. And even more so she just didn’t give herself things. My Dad wasn’t going to do it. Why didn’t she realize this sooner? Why did she sit around waiting for someone to do it for her?

Is this the curse of motherhood for me?

Am I just doing what I think “being a mom” is all about? Deprivation, resentment and finally reaching a breaking point? Do I think I have to prove my love by not caring about myself? Or is it more than this even?

Because I think it is.