When you become a mother, there are hundreds of things that no one warned you about. The bleeding nipples, the constant worrying, how you can both love and want to strangle your child at the same time. For me, ALL OF MOTHERHOOD was a shock because I never really paid attention when people with kids talked before.
But the thing that I am finding the most surprising, or perhaps the most difficult to deal with is that it has made very clear exactly what my mother did right. Lately though, it is becoming more and more obvious what she did wrong. Not that I didn't already go through therapy for a hundred years and deal with all my Mommy blame issues. Up until recently, I really thought I had forgiven her. I had decided that I was going to just use what I knew to not make the same mistakes with my child. And I do a really good job of providing Lila with structure where I had none.
There are plenty of things that I already knew about my mother. My mother (just like I do) suffered from a debilitating depression through most of my childhood. Because of this, she had little patience for my greedy desire for attention and would disappear at night to see her friends to be someone else for a few hours and forget her problems. The depression also made it hard for her to commit me to anything. No instrument lessons or dance or extra-curricular activities because committing me meant a commitment for her. I also know that she never pushed me, never gave me chores, never taught me to sat goals, never gave me boundaries. I always just slid by. I was smart. I was pretty. I was a kid and didn't know that I was lacking life skills because I was always able to talk myself out of any setback.
As a mother suffering from depression, I often find that I am too overwhelmed or exhausted to hear another whiny plea for a toy. I desperately want to just give in and let Lila watch TV all day and eat whatever the hell she wants because it is REALLY FUCKING HARD to sit there any listen to her cry when I ask her to do the things she needs to do. But I don't. Because my job as a parent doesn't allow me to. And as much as I want to take a handful of Xanax and walk away sometimes, I CAN'T. I understand the avoidance and withdrawal that my mother needed in order to preserve what little energy her illness left her with each day. I understand how much easier it would be to just decide I don't really care and just give in. It is easier to see your child happy than unhappy. I forgive her for feeling that way. Because I feel that way every day.
My mother is long recovered from her depression. She found medication that keeps the worst of it away and has worked out some of her own demons with a therapist. But here's the thing. As my child's daycare provider, the person who Lila spends several hours each day, my mother STILL does all these things. And it fucking infuriates me.
All the things that I demand of my child, all the ways that I try to mould her into a well-behaved, appreciative, cooperative kid is undone every single day. It seems that each time I pick her up, there is some argument with my mother because she has again disregarded my wishes and given something or allowed Lila to do something I have told her not to.
For example, (and believe me, this is just one) Lila was getting stomach aches. It occurred to me that she ate grilled cheese sandwiches a lot and those give ME stomach aches. So I told my mother not to give her any for the entire week to see if she still has stomach aches. And what did Lila have for lunch THE DAY AFTER I told my mother this? A MOTHERFUCKING GRILLED CHEESE SANDWICH. And when I asked my mother why the hell she gave Lila a grilled cheese sandwich, she shrugged and said, "that's what she wanted for lunch." I often have to remind my mother that Lila is 4. She wants an elevator in her bedroom closet and wants to get a pet Lion. Four year olds are not allowed to make every decision in their lives. That's why they need babysitters.
Of course, my mother maintains that she does these kinds of things because she is a GRANDMOTHER and that grandmothers are supposed to spoil their grand kids, which would be fine if Lila went over there once a month. But that's not even the point. Little things like this only remind me of why as an adult, I have such a hard time with moderation and why I am (illogically) crushed if I cannot get people to give me the things I want.
I have posted a few blogs about my mother spoiling Lila, and you will find plenty of examples here,
here, and also here of how my mother refuses to listen to me with regard to how I choose to raise my child. In her mind, I turned out just fine and so she must have done things right. BUT I DID NOT TURN OUT FINE!!! I am selfish (I was given whatever I asked for), I am lazy and unmotivated (there was never an incentive for doing anything or a punishment for not doing it) , I am very smart but cannot finish anything (no one ever made sure I did) and I have always been an underachiever (how do you push yourself if no one ever pushed you to do ANYTHING you said you didn't want to do?). Additionally, it never clicked that other people actually SET GOALS for the things they wanted to do and worked toward them until I was 26. I always just had things "happen" to me. Don't even get me started about money problems (my parents' view of money and credit are seriously fucking ridiculous - my mother believes in signing up for every credit card that she possibly can, and then maxing them out and making the minimum payments because "I won't be around that long anyway. I might as well get the things I want now before I'm dead. NO I AM NOT JOKING).
(I have already posted about how shitty I am as an adult HERE)
I KNOW that she gave these things to me. I blame her because my father just went along with whatever my mother said. And at some point in my mid-twenties, I realized that it was no longer her responsibility and it was up to me to try to change these deficiencies. And I really thought I had forgiven her because when I became a mother (and subsequently a mother with depression), I UNDERSTOOD why she did the things she did.
But I look at myself with Lila and I can't help but to be angry at my mother. Because I don't want to have to instill those things in her. I don't have any idea how to, because I suck at them myself. In fact, I want to be left the hell alone most of the time. But I know what I have to do. This isn't some transcendental knowledge or wisdom that I have. This is what fucking parenting is. It is all about responsibility. It is about loving someone enough to do what they NEED even of they fucking hate you for it. It is filled with difficulty and discomfort and headaches and insanity. But that's all just the basic part of the job.
Why did she do what was easy with me? And why does she refuse to listen when I try to tell her that love is not just buying Lila toys and letting her throw several blobs of raw cookie dough at the ceiling so she can laugh when it sticks (nope, not kidding about that either). It is about setting limits so that she knows what to expect. It is about making sure she is getting the foods she needs to grow and learn and feel good. It is about telling her that you will not tolerate bad behavior because you don't want her to grow up to be a total asshole. She does not understand this. She says she does, but she reverts to the things that I described the next day.
This makes me feel disappointed in her. I am disappointed that she didn't do better with me. I am disappointed that she never bothered. I am disappointed that she thinks love is about temporary happiness, even if it destroys the future potential. I am just so fucking sad about it.
Showing posts with label Who Am I?. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Who Am I?. Show all posts
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Ok. Seriously Now.
I am terrified of something. It haunts me as I lay next to Lila during story time at night. It creeps up on me when she wakes up in the morning and wants to sit on my lap on the couch. It eats at me a song I like comes on the radio and she declares, "I LOVE THIS SONG"!!!
I am afraid that this is the most I will ever like my kid.
We're not talking about "LOVING" because I am pretty sure I would (actually do) subject myself to all manner of torture to ensure that she doesn't suffer. But LOVE is not the same as LIKE.
As many of you know, I started this blog because motherhood is sometimes hard and sometimes boring and sometimes frustrating and sometimes just sucks. I also had pretty severe post-partum depression and spent the first several months of Lila's life not "liking" her very much. She screamed 16 hours a day for 6 months and slept in 20 minute spurts and that meant that I slept in 10 minute spurts because it took me at least 10 minutes to fall asleep. Needless to say, I was pretty sure that my child was sent specifically to punish me for whatever the hell I did in my past life.
The other problem is that over the last 4 years, I have struggled with major depressive disorder and that pretty much makes you not like anyone or anything. I spent a lot of time just trying to stay sane, and having a toddler around (and then a preschooler) generally accomplished exactly the opposite of that. Although I absolutely adored her and knew that she was the most wonderful child anyone has ever had (and I'm not saying that because I am her mother, I am saying it because she totally is) and I wanted to enjoy spending time with her, kids are kind of a huge pain in the ass.
And then last summer, something happened. It all started with my nervous breakdown and a brief trip to a "recovery resort" (read: mental hospital). When I came home, I was still weak but something had clicked while I was away. I felt different. Suddenly I felt like I was really a mother. Perhaps it was just some delayed reaction or maybe it was the drugs they had me on, but I like to think it was because Lila had turned 4, and suddenly she was learning all these cool things and not throwing so many tantrums and actually learning that it isn't okay to scream in the house.
This feeling has been a constant since then. Lila is a really good kid. She is smart and funny and loving and well behaved (when she isn't at Grandma's). I find myself excited to spend the day alone with her where before the idea of it terrified me (seriously, I would have panic attacks). I love doing bedtime with her because she talks about the things she loves and always includes me. She likes whatever I like, wants to do whatever I do, and I know everything about her.
And that's when the fear kicks in. What happens when she goes to school all day? She will learn about things that I can't control. She'll make new friends and those friends will begin to teach her things that I don't want her to know and she'll start realizing that the things that I like are actually really awful and lame and she'll tell me so. What if I just don't like the person she becomes?
YES, YES, I know this is probably not going to happen like that. That I am ignoring all the incredible things that she will be doing and that in all likelihood, I will grow to enjoy her even more. But this isn't about being rational. This is about realizing that I lost time during my darkest periods and fearing that this happiness will be fleeting (by the way, I totally got all teary-eyed typing that last sentence and that is why I am would rather just complain all the time).
This is when I need to be assured that it isn't just my medication (because I don't trust that at all) and that at some point I will realize that it isn't just a fluke (at least until she hits the awful teen years).
I am afraid that this is the most I will ever like my kid.
We're not talking about "LOVING" because I am pretty sure I would (actually do) subject myself to all manner of torture to ensure that she doesn't suffer. But LOVE is not the same as LIKE.
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| My profile pic says it all. |
As many of you know, I started this blog because motherhood is sometimes hard and sometimes boring and sometimes frustrating and sometimes just sucks. I also had pretty severe post-partum depression and spent the first several months of Lila's life not "liking" her very much. She screamed 16 hours a day for 6 months and slept in 20 minute spurts and that meant that I slept in 10 minute spurts because it took me at least 10 minutes to fall asleep. Needless to say, I was pretty sure that my child was sent specifically to punish me for whatever the hell I did in my past life.
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| If I invented shit like this, I probably deserve it. |
The other problem is that over the last 4 years, I have struggled with major depressive disorder and that pretty much makes you not like anyone or anything. I spent a lot of time just trying to stay sane, and having a toddler around (and then a preschooler) generally accomplished exactly the opposite of that. Although I absolutely adored her and knew that she was the most wonderful child anyone has ever had (and I'm not saying that because I am her mother, I am saying it because she totally is) and I wanted to enjoy spending time with her, kids are kind of a huge pain in the ass.
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| As you can see, age 3 was worse than age 2. |
And then last summer, something happened. It all started with my nervous breakdown and a brief trip to a "recovery resort" (read: mental hospital). When I came home, I was still weak but something had clicked while I was away. I felt different. Suddenly I felt like I was really a mother. Perhaps it was just some delayed reaction or maybe it was the drugs they had me on, but I like to think it was because Lila had turned 4, and suddenly she was learning all these cool things and not throwing so many tantrums and actually learning that it isn't okay to scream in the house.
This feeling has been a constant since then. Lila is a really good kid. She is smart and funny and loving and well behaved (when she isn't at Grandma's). I find myself excited to spend the day alone with her where before the idea of it terrified me (seriously, I would have panic attacks). I love doing bedtime with her because she talks about the things she loves and always includes me. She likes whatever I like, wants to do whatever I do, and I know everything about her.
And that's when the fear kicks in. What happens when she goes to school all day? She will learn about things that I can't control. She'll make new friends and those friends will begin to teach her things that I don't want her to know and she'll start realizing that the things that I like are actually really awful and lame and she'll tell me so. What if I just don't like the person she becomes?
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| What if she thinks this ass basket is cool? |
YES, YES, I know this is probably not going to happen like that. That I am ignoring all the incredible things that she will be doing and that in all likelihood, I will grow to enjoy her even more. But this isn't about being rational. This is about realizing that I lost time during my darkest periods and fearing that this happiness will be fleeting (by the way, I totally got all teary-eyed typing that last sentence and that is why I am would rather just complain all the time).
This is when I need to be assured that it isn't just my medication (because I don't trust that at all) and that at some point I will realize that it isn't just a fluke (at least until she hits the awful teen years).
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Not a resolution...Just total bullshit.
I started drinking coffee when I was about 4 years old. Not regularly of course, but my Grandmother used to see nothing wrong with handing me a lukewarm cup loaded with sugar and milk as a treat. She was also always yelling at me to "knock it off" and "quiet down" and "sit the fuck down you goddamned lunatic." For some reason she was always worn out when I left and constantly threatened my parents that she would not babysit me anymore because I was too wild (?).
Coffee is my one vice. I don't really drink. I can't handle drugs (pot turns me paranoid). I don't have the money or the credit to shop. So I drink like 6 cups of coffee a day. I love it. I love trying new flavors and roasts. I buy the good stuff because I am going to spend all day with it so it should be awesome.
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| I am pretty sure it is. |
Then about a month ago, I started noticing something strange. I was getting nauseous around 4:00 every day. I was having heartburn for several days in a row. I talked to my mother about it and she said something that shook me to my core. "It's the coffee."
"HA!" I said. No way. Coffee is my friend. We're close. Coffee would never hurt me. But deep down inside, I knew it was true. I was going to have to dramatically cut down on my coffee consumption.
I stocked up on a few different kinds of tea (TEA! An abomination). I knew that when you are used to having that much caffeine it isn't smart to just stop. The plan was simple. I would have ONE cup of coffee in the morning, then I would switch to tea for the rest of the day.
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| I need to have this right now. |
I have been doing this for about 10 days (why wait until the new year. It's a necessity, not a resolution) and I have noticed a difference where I am feeling less pukey throughout the day. But here's the thing. Now I am waking up with heartburn. And although it is uncomfortable, I am not ready to walk away from my coffee completely. I take a few Tums and knock one back. Usually that does the trick.
Getting old is total bullshit.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Because you want to know why I blog.
Sunday Stealing!!! Because I LOVE telling you everything!
1. Why did you sign up for writing your blog?
Because Motherhood Sucks! Duh! No really, I was insane with Post-Partum Depression and needed to vent.
2. Why did you choose your blog's name? What does it mean?
See above. I think my blogs name is pretty self explanatory.
3. Did you ever had another blog?
Yes. I had one called "SelenaLand" for a long time where I just posted random things I liked and ranted about current events. I have started and deleted a few others revolving around cancelled television shows. Oh, and my Depression blog.
4. What do you do online when you're not on your blog?
Mostly I look at Internet porn and radical Christian apocalypse sites. Usually at the same time.
5. How about when you're not on the computer?
I mostly just drink a lot of coffee and try not to have to kill anyone. I haven't slapped ANY total strangers this week and that is surprising because Black Friday was this week!
6. What do you wish people who read your blog knew about you?
That I don't TOTALLY hate motherhood. Only like 85%. ;-)
7. What is your favorite community in the blogosphere?
I like the Write on Edge people.
8. What is your philosophy on your blog layout?
I don't have a "philosophy". I just picked a template.
9. Tell me about your picture you use to represent you on your blog.
My Profile pic is of a 50s era mother taking something out of the oven and telling her daughter "Just because Mommy loves you doesn't mean Mommy likes you." Or some variation on that. That is the theme of a good portion of my posts.
10. Pick 3 random blogs from your blog roll and tell us about them.
Well, People I Want to Punch in the Throat needs very little explanation. Attracted to Shiny Things never EVER disappoints me, and what mother wouldn't LOVE Moms Who Drink and Swear (besides really douchy ones)?
11. What features do you think your blog should have that it doesn't currently?
I think it should alert me as soon as anyone interesting visits and then allow me to chat directly with that person. But I get to set the standards of what "interesting" entails. I don't want to make friends with some asshole who has 35 ferrets and lives in a basement.
12. What do you consider the 10 most "telling" interests that we would infer from your blog persona?
Hmmm. Obviously I am into self-torture and masochism. I clearly like to watch a lot of television. I spend WAAAAAAY too much time on the interwebs ("IT'S A SERIES OF TUBES!!!). I enjoy pie but won't bake one. I enjoy eating out at chain restaurants. I like to be left alone...HOW IS THAT ONLY 6 INTERESTS?...I am interested in bad jokes and dark humor. Perhaps you would somehow intuit that I am also interested in world domination and obtaining super powers, but I don't think I have made that evident on my blog. Oh and my interest in fire.
13. Do you have any unique interests that you have never shared before? What are they?
Sloths playing woodwind instruments would be a unique thing that I would be totally interested in. And I have never even thought of it, let alone shared it.
14. The best thing about blogging is all of the friends that you make, aside from those folks, do you think your blog has fans?
I like to believe so. Thousands of people can't possibly just be coming to my blog after searching "Justin Bieber Bulge" like my stats say (true story). The CLEARLY secretly love my blog.
15. What's your current obsession? What about it captures your imagination?
I am currently obsessed with getting through the holiday season without having to enter the asylum (again). It's going to be tough, but I now have a pill for that.
16. What are you glad you did but haven't really had a chance to post about?
I refuse to admit that having my child was the best thing that ever happened to me and she is a truly fantastic kid. Telling anyone that would completely tarnish my reputation.
17. How many people that first became a blog friend, have you met face to face?
None. I have to keep my identity a total secret, which is why I use my real name.
18. What don't you talk about here, either because it's too personal or because you don't have the energy?
I started my Depression blog because Motherhood is depressing enough.
19. What's a question that you'd love to answer?
"Tell me why people around the world are completely enthralled by you? In other words, how did you become a millionaire from writing your blog?"
20. Have you ever lost a blogging friendship and regretted it?
Not sure what all this entails.
21. Have you ever lost a blogging friendship and thought, “Was that overdue!”
Again, I don't understand. If a person whose blog I read and commented on and interacted with started to act like an asshole, I would simply stop the interaction. Is this a real problem out in blog land?
From SUNDAY STEALING
1. Why did you sign up for writing your blog?
Because Motherhood Sucks! Duh! No really, I was insane with Post-Partum Depression and needed to vent.
2. Why did you choose your blog's name? What does it mean?
See above. I think my blogs name is pretty self explanatory.
3. Did you ever had another blog?
Yes. I had one called "SelenaLand" for a long time where I just posted random things I liked and ranted about current events. I have started and deleted a few others revolving around cancelled television shows. Oh, and my Depression blog.
4. What do you do online when you're not on your blog?
Mostly I look at Internet porn and radical Christian apocalypse sites. Usually at the same time.
5. How about when you're not on the computer?
I mostly just drink a lot of coffee and try not to have to kill anyone. I haven't slapped ANY total strangers this week and that is surprising because Black Friday was this week!
6. What do you wish people who read your blog knew about you?
That I don't TOTALLY hate motherhood. Only like 85%. ;-)
7. What is your favorite community in the blogosphere?
I like the Write on Edge people.
8. What is your philosophy on your blog layout?
I don't have a "philosophy". I just picked a template.
9. Tell me about your picture you use to represent you on your blog.
My Profile pic is of a 50s era mother taking something out of the oven and telling her daughter "Just because Mommy loves you doesn't mean Mommy likes you." Or some variation on that. That is the theme of a good portion of my posts.
10. Pick 3 random blogs from your blog roll and tell us about them.
Well, People I Want to Punch in the Throat needs very little explanation. Attracted to Shiny Things never EVER disappoints me, and what mother wouldn't LOVE Moms Who Drink and Swear (besides really douchy ones)?
11. What features do you think your blog should have that it doesn't currently?
I think it should alert me as soon as anyone interesting visits and then allow me to chat directly with that person. But I get to set the standards of what "interesting" entails. I don't want to make friends with some asshole who has 35 ferrets and lives in a basement.
12. What do you consider the 10 most "telling" interests that we would infer from your blog persona?
Hmmm. Obviously I am into self-torture and masochism. I clearly like to watch a lot of television. I spend WAAAAAAY too much time on the interwebs ("IT'S A SERIES OF TUBES!!!). I enjoy pie but won't bake one. I enjoy eating out at chain restaurants. I like to be left alone...HOW IS THAT ONLY 6 INTERESTS?...I am interested in bad jokes and dark humor. Perhaps you would somehow intuit that I am also interested in world domination and obtaining super powers, but I don't think I have made that evident on my blog. Oh and my interest in fire.
13. Do you have any unique interests that you have never shared before? What are they?
Sloths playing woodwind instruments would be a unique thing that I would be totally interested in. And I have never even thought of it, let alone shared it.
14. The best thing about blogging is all of the friends that you make, aside from those folks, do you think your blog has fans?
I like to believe so. Thousands of people can't possibly just be coming to my blog after searching "Justin Bieber Bulge" like my stats say (true story). The CLEARLY secretly love my blog.
15. What's your current obsession? What about it captures your imagination?
I am currently obsessed with getting through the holiday season without having to enter the asylum (again). It's going to be tough, but I now have a pill for that.
16. What are you glad you did but haven't really had a chance to post about?
I refuse to admit that having my child was the best thing that ever happened to me and she is a truly fantastic kid. Telling anyone that would completely tarnish my reputation.
17. How many people that first became a blog friend, have you met face to face?
None. I have to keep my identity a total secret, which is why I use my real name.
18. What don't you talk about here, either because it's too personal or because you don't have the energy?
I started my Depression blog because Motherhood is depressing enough.
19. What's a question that you'd love to answer?
"Tell me why people around the world are completely enthralled by you? In other words, how did you become a millionaire from writing your blog?"
20. Have you ever lost a blogging friendship and regretted it?
Not sure what all this entails.
21. Have you ever lost a blogging friendship and thought, “Was that overdue!”
Again, I don't understand. If a person whose blog I read and commented on and interacted with started to act like an asshole, I would simply stop the interaction. Is this a real problem out in blog land?
From SUNDAY STEALING
Saturday, November 19, 2011
What no girl wants to hear. Ever.
Last week, for reasons that I am not going to go into in this post (it was a memorial service for someone I wasn't very close to but felt the need to pay my respects) I had reason to meet up with one of my brothers friends who I hadn't seen in at least 8 or 9 years. My brother is almost 10 years older than me which means that growing up he and his friends spent many fun-filled hours being entertained by teasing me and doling out all kinds of psychological cruelty at my expense.
This particular friend had grown up and spent many hours of his teenage years at my house watching MTV (this was back when they played videos and had VJs) and locking me in closets with my brother. So it is possible that many years later I may have felt the need to prove that I was no longer that whiny, annoying, nerdy little girl and we really "got to know each other" (*wink wink*).
As I said before, I hadn't seen this friend in a LONG time and as soon as I knew that I was going to see him I was instantly extremely self conscious about the fact that I was not the young hot sex object that he knew when last we met. In fact, lest just be honest here: I GOT FAT.
As an aside, I realize that this is stupid and that I really shouldn't care what this guy thinks. I am in a happy relationship and this guy (to be completely honest) is a pothead who lives in his mother's basement at 40-something years old. But whatever. Sometimes the insanity takes over and twists things around to make things like not totally disgusting a guy that you used to sleep with when you were 20 and completely bat shit crazy seem like a necessity.
Since Ben had a thing that evening, I arranged to meet the friend at the place because I have this fear of walking into places alone (yeah, again totally stupid). I got out of my car and wearing my nice clothes and fancy shoes, I walked over and we hugged and did the whole "so nice to see you" thing. Then he looked my up and down and nonchalantly made a comment that made me die a little inside.
"Wow. Hello, Sue. When did you start looking so much like your mom?"
The urge to smack him was strong but I resisted. You see, my mom has always been heavy. Not like "needs to be lifted with a crane to leave the house" heavy, but she was never a MILF to my brother's friends. In fact, he likely remembers her being drunk at least half of the time when he was around, which, if I were them I would find extremely unattractive.
I tried to ignore this comment and reminded myself of why we were there (someone DIED, after all) and said my "Sorry for your losses" and "I can't believe it's" and got the hell out of there (funerals and the like cause me more anxiety than I can handle).
Part of me knew that he was just saying this to be a jerk, the way that my brother and him used to say that I was adopted because it would make me cry when I was 5, but the other part of me knew that there was a great degree of truth to it. I DID look like my mother, not just because I had put on a few (no need to tell the truth) pounds but because as I get older I see more and more of her in my face.
I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I don't hate my mother or anything. And she isn't an ugly woman. She has silky blonde hair (which I don't) and was considered a beauty before she had kids (because having kids will destroy you if you aren't vigilant). But the truth of the matter is that what I heard was not "you resemble your mother more than you did when you were young and slutty". What I heard was "YOU HAVE TURNED INTO YOUR MOTHER."
No girl wants to hear that. And certainly not from someone who once saw her naked.
On the way out he made some stupid comment about how we should get together again under better circumstances (*wink wink*) (he actually winked when he said it) and I didn't even hesitate. "hmmmm. I don't think so. I have what I need at home. And besides, you got old."
This particular friend had grown up and spent many hours of his teenage years at my house watching MTV (this was back when they played videos and had VJs) and locking me in closets with my brother. So it is possible that many years later I may have felt the need to prove that I was no longer that whiny, annoying, nerdy little girl and we really "got to know each other" (*wink wink*).
As I said before, I hadn't seen this friend in a LONG time and as soon as I knew that I was going to see him I was instantly extremely self conscious about the fact that I was not the young hot sex object that he knew when last we met. In fact, lest just be honest here: I GOT FAT.
As an aside, I realize that this is stupid and that I really shouldn't care what this guy thinks. I am in a happy relationship and this guy (to be completely honest) is a pothead who lives in his mother's basement at 40-something years old. But whatever. Sometimes the insanity takes over and twists things around to make things like not totally disgusting a guy that you used to sleep with when you were 20 and completely bat shit crazy seem like a necessity.
Since Ben had a thing that evening, I arranged to meet the friend at the place because I have this fear of walking into places alone (yeah, again totally stupid). I got out of my car and wearing my nice clothes and fancy shoes, I walked over and we hugged and did the whole "so nice to see you" thing. Then he looked my up and down and nonchalantly made a comment that made me die a little inside.
"Wow. Hello, Sue. When did you start looking so much like your mom?"
The urge to smack him was strong but I resisted. You see, my mom has always been heavy. Not like "needs to be lifted with a crane to leave the house" heavy, but she was never a MILF to my brother's friends. In fact, he likely remembers her being drunk at least half of the time when he was around, which, if I were them I would find extremely unattractive.
I tried to ignore this comment and reminded myself of why we were there (someone DIED, after all) and said my "Sorry for your losses" and "I can't believe it's" and got the hell out of there (funerals and the like cause me more anxiety than I can handle).
Part of me knew that he was just saying this to be a jerk, the way that my brother and him used to say that I was adopted because it would make me cry when I was 5, but the other part of me knew that there was a great degree of truth to it. I DID look like my mother, not just because I had put on a few (no need to tell the truth) pounds but because as I get older I see more and more of her in my face.
I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I don't hate my mother or anything. And she isn't an ugly woman. She has silky blonde hair (which I don't) and was considered a beauty before she had kids (because having kids will destroy you if you aren't vigilant). But the truth of the matter is that what I heard was not "you resemble your mother more than you did when you were young and slutty". What I heard was "YOU HAVE TURNED INTO YOUR MOTHER."
No girl wants to hear that. And certainly not from someone who once saw her naked.
On the way out he made some stupid comment about how we should get together again under better circumstances (*wink wink*) (he actually winked when he said it) and I didn't even hesitate. "hmmmm. I don't think so. I have what I need at home. And besides, you got old."
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Where I'm From
I am from Tupperware bowls , from Wonder bread, the brown striped metal swingset in the back yard. From windows that had to be ROLLED down and standing up in the back seat without a seat belt.
I am from the snow piled 5 feet high, bleak dreary winters, too cold to leave the house.
I am from the bleeding hearts in my front yard, discovering the lilies of the valley hiding in the shade in April and the yellow roses that my mother always pruned at the wrong time of the year.
I am from Christmas around the table at Grandma Virgies, and drunken slurred arguments late into the night, and from Uncle Ray and Aunt Nancy and Great-Aunt Angie.
I am from the smoke-filled rooms where children's birthday parties were held and being pressured to eat something-ANYTHING when the piles of italian cookies are stacked high on glass plates on the table.
From "if you don't behave the MAN will come and steal you"and "You don't have a tumor/cancer/heart disease/polio/tapeworm. Stop being a hypochondriac."
I am from Sister Celestine explaining that if I don't have a prayer corner in my bedroom then I cannot make my first communion and my mother telling me that I don't need a prayer corner to go to heaven.
I’m from the North Side and the foot of the boot and Poland/Russia/Germany, depending on when the land changed hands, from my mother's Golabki and my aunt's Spaghetti with Calamari.
From the baby who cried non-stop for six months and only stopped when she was placed in an open dresser drawer, the uncle who almost died when he tried to quit drinking who was lucky that they chose to put him on life support because he woke up 4 days later, and the lady who was only 4 months old when her mother brought her on the journey to America.
I am from the black and white photographs in a yellowed manilla envelope in my mother's closet and the momentos and papers tucked away in Aunt Mary's basement, and collecting them all to create my own broken understanding of where I am from.
..........................................................................
This was a prompt found at Mama Kat's
 |
| Yup. That's me. What do you think I was about to say? |
I am from the snow piled 5 feet high, bleak dreary winters, too cold to leave the house.
I am from the bleeding hearts in my front yard, discovering the lilies of the valley hiding in the shade in April and the yellow roses that my mother always pruned at the wrong time of the year.
I am from Christmas around the table at Grandma Virgies, and drunken slurred arguments late into the night, and from Uncle Ray and Aunt Nancy and Great-Aunt Angie.
 |
| Grandma Virge, me, Grandma G |
I am from the smoke-filled rooms where children's birthday parties were held and being pressured to eat something-ANYTHING when the piles of italian cookies are stacked high on glass plates on the table.
From "if you don't behave the MAN will come and steal you"and "You don't have a tumor/cancer/heart disease/polio/tapeworm. Stop being a hypochondriac."
I am from Sister Celestine explaining that if I don't have a prayer corner in my bedroom then I cannot make my first communion and my mother telling me that I don't need a prayer corner to go to heaven.
 |
| Holy Trinity Church |
I’m from the North Side and the foot of the boot and Poland/Russia/Germany, depending on when the land changed hands, from my mother's Golabki and my aunt's Spaghetti with Calamari.
From the baby who cried non-stop for six months and only stopped when she was placed in an open dresser drawer, the uncle who almost died when he tried to quit drinking who was lucky that they chose to put him on life support because he woke up 4 days later, and the lady who was only 4 months old when her mother brought her on the journey to America.
 |
| Baby in Drawer |
I am from the black and white photographs in a yellowed manilla envelope in my mother's closet and the momentos and papers tucked away in Aunt Mary's basement, and collecting them all to create my own broken understanding of where I am from.
..........................................................................
This was a prompt found at Mama Kat's
Sunday, August 28, 2011
They really do resemble the mentally ill.
I have heard it joked that having a small child in your house is like living with a crazy person. And I am here to tell you that I can confirm that it's absolutely true, although to be more accurate, it is like living with a ward full of psychiatric patients. I know because I just left there.
As many of you know, my depression has been excruciating lately and I was not finding a lot of help from the professionals that I contacted. Last Saturday, I had finally had enough and I checked myself into the psych ward at the hospital (you were wondering where I was, weren't you?).
I waited until Lila was out and about with her dad for the day and then called my mother and begged her to take me to the hospital (actually, she was more than willing and thought it was the best idea). I didn't think they were actually going to check me in because I was not threatening to kill myself or anyone else (for a change). When the doctor told me she wanted me to check in voluntarily or else she was going to check me in involuntarily with a required 72 hour stay, I signed the papers all the while crying and trying to convince the doctor that my child would never survive without me.
Even in a state that can best be described as desperately useless, I was more worried about my kid than I was about myself. I felt guilty for leaving her - for NEEDING to leave her. I felt like I had been so removed and uninvolved for weeks now, and I was finally doing the inevitable. I was leaving her. My mother convinced me that she was in very able hands (her Dad is a fantastic father) and that this would truly be better than letting her see me in such a state of utter breakdown. I knew she was right-in my head. But my heart told me that I was a deserter.
The ward was a hospital ward with a long hallway with patients' rooms on one side and offices and other useful rooms on the other. In the middle of the hall was a large open room with a TV and several tables in it. The TV was always at full volume and the fluorescent lights and linoleum floors make the room harsh and uncomfortable.
But it isn't the decor that I think was the important part of this story. It was the people. They don't separate the truly insane or disruptive patients from those who are depressed or anxious and the crazies ran the place.
The first person I saw was a guy with a thick black beard and shaved head who just stood in the hall smiling to himself. He just stood there. Didn't look up. Then he tentatively took half a step before smiling to himself again. I was instantly afraid. He was totally in his own head and I realized then that I was here with truly ill people.
There was also a guy who constantly paced the length of the hallway all day and half the night. When he sat down, he would try to talk to you or concentrate on something to no avail. He would get frustrated and jump up to walk again.
There was a woman who barked. She mostly barked but also liked to repeat everything that people said when she was in the mood. The first night I was there, they were watching some show on Telemundo that was like America's Got Talent but only showcased children. At one point, a dance team came out enthusiastically gyrating to annoying techno music. She heard the music, jumped up and started imitating the dance moves. Here was a 50+ woman who barked doing some really athletic dance moves. I was pretty sure she was going to hurt herself.
There was a guy who was essentially catatonic in a wheelchair who would piss himself and then come to life fighting the nurses who tried to change his pants.
There was a girl who confined herself to her room most of the time except that several times a day (and often in the middle of the night) would come out into the hall screeching, howling and hooting as if she were at some fantastic dance party that only she could see.
But my favorite memory will always be of The Yeller. The Yeller was a 70 year old man who came in complaining and bitching but in completely nonsensical sentences. He literally yelled utter nonsense for 4 entire days, quieting down for 3 hours here and there but mostly going on non-stop. He just could not shut the fuck up. He yelled all kinds of interesting gems and I was convinced that if I could just transcribe it, there would be some sense to be made of it. But I doubt it. He would walk up to you for no reason looking like you somehow offended him and he'd point at you and say something like (and I quote) "You can tell me abracadabra and put it in the dryer. But you have to get the user's manual that's in the refrigerator because the sponges need a bath." After 4 days of him yelling day and night, I decided that ready or not, I needed to go home.
Coming home was really strange for me. My house looked weird. Lila looked like she had grown up, and I just felt completely out of sorts. I knew that the relief I felt from the excessive sadness and anxiety was mostly due to being away from my real life and I knew that it was going to be hard to disappoint Lila, who thought that since I was coming back from the hospital that I was going to be all better. I am not.
But all that being said, I found out that I have an incredibly well-behaved and well-adjusted child. Lila missed me and asked about me often but only cried about it once, at bedtime on the second night I was gone. In fact, I would often call her at my mother's house during the day and on more than one occasion when my mother asked if she wanted to talk to me she shrugged and said, "not right now, I'm playing." When I told my doctor about this, she asked if that hurt my feelings and I had to be honest: I was completely relieved that she was secure in the idea that I was coming back soon. She wasn't traumatized by my absence and that freed me up to do some of the work I needed to do to get myself in good enough shape to get out of there.
Like any stay in the hospital, coming home did not mean I was "cured". It only meant that the crisis had been averted and that the hard work of really getting better was beginning. Before I left, they made me a prompt appointment with a therapist and a psychiatrist, which boggled my mind since every shrink I had called in the last month told me they were either not taking new patients or wouldn't be able to see me until October. I have new meds (which I already think need adjusting) and I am still having a ton of anxiety and sadness.
But now I know that there is help out there. And I have something that I didn't have when I went in there. Hope.
As many of you know, my depression has been excruciating lately and I was not finding a lot of help from the professionals that I contacted. Last Saturday, I had finally had enough and I checked myself into the psych ward at the hospital (you were wondering where I was, weren't you?).
I waited until Lila was out and about with her dad for the day and then called my mother and begged her to take me to the hospital (actually, she was more than willing and thought it was the best idea). I didn't think they were actually going to check me in because I was not threatening to kill myself or anyone else (for a change). When the doctor told me she wanted me to check in voluntarily or else she was going to check me in involuntarily with a required 72 hour stay, I signed the papers all the while crying and trying to convince the doctor that my child would never survive without me.
Even in a state that can best be described as desperately useless, I was more worried about my kid than I was about myself. I felt guilty for leaving her - for NEEDING to leave her. I felt like I had been so removed and uninvolved for weeks now, and I was finally doing the inevitable. I was leaving her. My mother convinced me that she was in very able hands (her Dad is a fantastic father) and that this would truly be better than letting her see me in such a state of utter breakdown. I knew she was right-in my head. But my heart told me that I was a deserter.
The ward was a hospital ward with a long hallway with patients' rooms on one side and offices and other useful rooms on the other. In the middle of the hall was a large open room with a TV and several tables in it. The TV was always at full volume and the fluorescent lights and linoleum floors make the room harsh and uncomfortable.
But it isn't the decor that I think was the important part of this story. It was the people. They don't separate the truly insane or disruptive patients from those who are depressed or anxious and the crazies ran the place.
The first person I saw was a guy with a thick black beard and shaved head who just stood in the hall smiling to himself. He just stood there. Didn't look up. Then he tentatively took half a step before smiling to himself again. I was instantly afraid. He was totally in his own head and I realized then that I was here with truly ill people.
There was also a guy who constantly paced the length of the hallway all day and half the night. When he sat down, he would try to talk to you or concentrate on something to no avail. He would get frustrated and jump up to walk again.
There was a woman who barked. She mostly barked but also liked to repeat everything that people said when she was in the mood. The first night I was there, they were watching some show on Telemundo that was like America's Got Talent but only showcased children. At one point, a dance team came out enthusiastically gyrating to annoying techno music. She heard the music, jumped up and started imitating the dance moves. Here was a 50+ woman who barked doing some really athletic dance moves. I was pretty sure she was going to hurt herself.
There was a guy who was essentially catatonic in a wheelchair who would piss himself and then come to life fighting the nurses who tried to change his pants.
There was a girl who confined herself to her room most of the time except that several times a day (and often in the middle of the night) would come out into the hall screeching, howling and hooting as if she were at some fantastic dance party that only she could see.
But my favorite memory will always be of The Yeller. The Yeller was a 70 year old man who came in complaining and bitching but in completely nonsensical sentences. He literally yelled utter nonsense for 4 entire days, quieting down for 3 hours here and there but mostly going on non-stop. He just could not shut the fuck up. He yelled all kinds of interesting gems and I was convinced that if I could just transcribe it, there would be some sense to be made of it. But I doubt it. He would walk up to you for no reason looking like you somehow offended him and he'd point at you and say something like (and I quote) "You can tell me abracadabra and put it in the dryer. But you have to get the user's manual that's in the refrigerator because the sponges need a bath." After 4 days of him yelling day and night, I decided that ready or not, I needed to go home.
Coming home was really strange for me. My house looked weird. Lila looked like she had grown up, and I just felt completely out of sorts. I knew that the relief I felt from the excessive sadness and anxiety was mostly due to being away from my real life and I knew that it was going to be hard to disappoint Lila, who thought that since I was coming back from the hospital that I was going to be all better. I am not.
But all that being said, I found out that I have an incredibly well-behaved and well-adjusted child. Lila missed me and asked about me often but only cried about it once, at bedtime on the second night I was gone. In fact, I would often call her at my mother's house during the day and on more than one occasion when my mother asked if she wanted to talk to me she shrugged and said, "not right now, I'm playing." When I told my doctor about this, she asked if that hurt my feelings and I had to be honest: I was completely relieved that she was secure in the idea that I was coming back soon. She wasn't traumatized by my absence and that freed me up to do some of the work I needed to do to get myself in good enough shape to get out of there.
Like any stay in the hospital, coming home did not mean I was "cured". It only meant that the crisis had been averted and that the hard work of really getting better was beginning. Before I left, they made me a prompt appointment with a therapist and a psychiatrist, which boggled my mind since every shrink I had called in the last month told me they were either not taking new patients or wouldn't be able to see me until October. I have new meds (which I already think need adjusting) and I am still having a ton of anxiety and sadness.
But now I know that there is help out there. And I have something that I didn't have when I went in there. Hope.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
The Ghost Mother
Sometimes I feel like a ghost.
I have been struggling with my depression again and as always it threatens to asphyxiate me and drown out all the good that lives in me.
But no one ever tells you that when you are a mother and you have depression, you do not get to suffer alone. The thing you love, the thing that keeps you from being lost completely in the abyss suffers too.
Having a mother with depression is like being forced to be psychic. You never know what is going to make her angry. You never know who is going to greet you when you come home. You never know if there is going to be someone to take care of you or if you are going to have to figure it out yourself again. This was MY experience. My mother was depressed.
And against everything I swore I would never be as a parent, this is slowly becoming my daughter's experience as well.
I feel like I am depriving her. Her mother doesn't want to play. She doesn't want to go anywhere. She can't muster the energy many days to leave the house. And when she does, the rest of the day is shot, because she only has so much patience and will to burn. She loses her cool when the kid is just being a kid.
And the more I feel guilty about being sick, the more I want to withdraw - to not subject her to me. And this makes me more guilty and feeds into this twisted circle that is quickly becoming something of a spiral or a whirlpool dragging me down to God knows where.
The meds have not been helping so I keep going back begging for some kind of help. "We'll find something that works for you," the doctor said to me today. But it's hard to watch what I am doing to my kid while the battle wears on.
And then there's the fear. The fear and worry that I am scarring her for life. That I am unable to teach her some essential survival skills that will keep her from succumbing to the same pitfalls and setbacks the threw me into the pit and left me there for dead. I don't want her to have to ever feel this way. But if history is any indication, my fears will be realized no matter how hard I work to prevent them.
It is hard to hold out hope for a turnaround. It is hard when most of the medications and therapies have just led to brief remissions and when substantial lifestyle changes have been sidetracked by this unbearable lethargy. But I have no choice. I have my little girl to look after. She keeps me from being able to give up. I HAVE to get out of bed. I HAVE to face the day. I HAVE to make dinner even when it hurts and is overwhelming just to stand at the stove and stir a pot. Even when I suck to be around. She still needs me.
I just hope she will forgive me for all the lost time.
I have been struggling with my depression again and as always it threatens to asphyxiate me and drown out all the good that lives in me.
But no one ever tells you that when you are a mother and you have depression, you do not get to suffer alone. The thing you love, the thing that keeps you from being lost completely in the abyss suffers too.
Having a mother with depression is like being forced to be psychic. You never know what is going to make her angry. You never know who is going to greet you when you come home. You never know if there is going to be someone to take care of you or if you are going to have to figure it out yourself again. This was MY experience. My mother was depressed.
And against everything I swore I would never be as a parent, this is slowly becoming my daughter's experience as well.
I feel like I am depriving her. Her mother doesn't want to play. She doesn't want to go anywhere. She can't muster the energy many days to leave the house. And when she does, the rest of the day is shot, because she only has so much patience and will to burn. She loses her cool when the kid is just being a kid.
And the more I feel guilty about being sick, the more I want to withdraw - to not subject her to me. And this makes me more guilty and feeds into this twisted circle that is quickly becoming something of a spiral or a whirlpool dragging me down to God knows where.
The meds have not been helping so I keep going back begging for some kind of help. "We'll find something that works for you," the doctor said to me today. But it's hard to watch what I am doing to my kid while the battle wears on.
And then there's the fear. The fear and worry that I am scarring her for life. That I am unable to teach her some essential survival skills that will keep her from succumbing to the same pitfalls and setbacks the threw me into the pit and left me there for dead. I don't want her to have to ever feel this way. But if history is any indication, my fears will be realized no matter how hard I work to prevent them.
It is hard to hold out hope for a turnaround. It is hard when most of the medications and therapies have just led to brief remissions and when substantial lifestyle changes have been sidetracked by this unbearable lethargy. But I have no choice. I have my little girl to look after. She keeps me from being able to give up. I HAVE to get out of bed. I HAVE to face the day. I HAVE to make dinner even when it hurts and is overwhelming just to stand at the stove and stir a pot. Even when I suck to be around. She still needs me.
I just hope she will forgive me for all the lost time.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
It started last weekend...
Ok. You know that whole "get in shape reasonably" thing I was going on about last week? Yeah. Um. Well the week has been rough.
Here is my progress:
Weigh-in: 156 lbs.
I gained a pound. But in fairness, I have had three cups of coffee and that's a lot of liquid.
Well, I walked twice. I also had dessert twice and ate after 9pm once (but it was just an apple so I think it shouldn't count). Although I THOUGHT about my goals every time I poured a glass of water, I seriously am just not thirsty enough to drink that much liquid throughout the day.
I am not giving up. Today I will start again. I am going to go grocery shopping and plan my meals this week (which I failed to do last week which led to fast food twice and a lot of crap). I am also going to pick up a Weight Watchers cookbook and see if I can find some good stuff in there to cook so that I don't eat so much cheese (mmmmmm...cheese!).
My other goal this week is to write at least one GOOD post where I am not just bitching about what a miserable fat ass I am.
For now though, just watch this. If all dessert looked like these, I would have no problem avoiding it.
Here is my progress:
Weigh-in: 156 lbs.
I gained a pound. But in fairness, I have had three cups of coffee and that's a lot of liquid.
Well, I walked twice. I also had dessert twice and ate after 9pm once (but it was just an apple so I think it shouldn't count). Although I THOUGHT about my goals every time I poured a glass of water, I seriously am just not thirsty enough to drink that much liquid throughout the day.
I am not giving up. Today I will start again. I am going to go grocery shopping and plan my meals this week (which I failed to do last week which led to fast food twice and a lot of crap). I am also going to pick up a Weight Watchers cookbook and see if I can find some good stuff in there to cook so that I don't eat so much cheese (mmmmmm...cheese!).
My other goal this week is to write at least one GOOD post where I am not just bitching about what a miserable fat ass I am.
For now though, just watch this. If all dessert looked like these, I would have no problem avoiding it.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Because Sucking is AWESOME
So the other day I am perusing my favorite Blog Attracted to Shiny Things (because I stalk it for new laughs all the time) and I see that she has been awarded this:
And all I can think is, "THAT BITCH! I want that Goddamned icon on MY page. Maybe I will just steal it and say someone gave it to me." But as I read further down I saw something fucking incredible.
SHE AWARDED IT TO ME!!!
Not only did she give it to me (along with 9 other bloggers) but I was the FIRST which means that I am the best (I am feeling really humble today obviously).
So in order to claim my award, which I intend to do right now, I have to tell you "7 DEEP things about me" which is easy because some days I just LOVE to talk about myself, and pass it along to 10 awesome bloggers (harder because I have been stalking Attracted to Shiny Things so hard that I have barely read any other blogs in the last few weeks...)
Deep Things:
1. Although I have upwards of 400 friends on the Facebook, I have a mysteriously absent social life. Seriously. I don't know what happened to all my real life friends, but since I moved back to Upstate New York 3 years ago, I have had only a few outings that involved anyone other than my kid and her father. Perhaps I should be spending less time on the Facebook.
2. Just when I had gotten to the point where I didn't care that I was overweight, I outgrew my fat clothes. Now I have to lose weight. I was okay with not being skinny. I was. I went out and spent some money on big-girl sized clothes and was like "fuck it." Because in truth, I like chocolate cake WAY more than I liked being tiny-sized. So I accepted it and moved on. But apparently my ass didn't get the message that I was perfectly comfortable in a size 14. Because it thinks that a 16 or 20 would be more comfortable. Which would be fine, I guess. But I truly cannot afford to go and buy any more clothes. So the cake will have to wait.
3. I used to date a con man who maintained that I was the only person he ever told the truth to. Back when I was kid, I had a little boyfriend and he had a little brother. The little brother grew up to be super hot and charming and I totally fell for him. Then he moved away and I carried that torch until a few years later when we met up again and I fell all over again. But something wasn't right. He acted really suspiciously all the time. He changed phone numbers and addresses all the time. He was incredibly unreliable. For example, we would have plans for the weekend and I would confirm this with him on Friday. Then Saturday he would fail to show up but Sunday morning he would call me from South Carolina and explain that "the Feds" showed up so he had to take off for a few days. "The Feds" came up ALL THE TIME. My friend and I used to laugh about it because we thought he just had a girlfriend or something and so I ended up basically writing him off. But a few weeks later I saw on the local news that they had caught one of his best friends who was wanted in like 7 states for fraud and assorted scams and realized that all these places his friend was wanted were places he had called me from (as confirmed on my phone bill). The friend went to prison for a really long time but never ratted. He managed to run from the Feds for another 8 years before he was let go on a technicality just recently. He's still fucking amazingly hot.
4. This is really hard. If I was just giving you random facts I would be able to do this, but "DEEP THINGS?" What the hell Yvonne?
5. I am a really shitty housekeeper. I hate cleaning and I have a 4 year old running around so you see how this is a problem. I never understood those people who get a rush from cleaning and organizing because I get the opposite. Cleaning drains me. It makes me want to die. Not to say my house is FILTHY. I clean. But I don't do all the maintenance stuff as often as I should (I refuse to clean toilets more than once a week and I force Ben to scrub the tub which only happens maybe once a month) but it gets done eventually. And I refuse to pick up Lila's crap more than once a day so generally shit stays strewn all over the house until she goes to bed at night. And don't get me started about the inside of my car.
6. I don't really believe in God but I believe in Serendipity. I was raised Catholic and always had a hard time swallowing the whole "God will punish you" thing because it just seemed that God had better things to do than watch teenagers masturbate or monitor my every thought for covetousness. So I stopped believing. But I never stopped believing that there is some kind of master plan and that everything happens for a reason. Not that we don't make our own choices. We do. And we go horribly off path. But in the end we always end up where we need to be.
7. I was afraid that my kid was going to destroy my shitty attitude and bad ass reputation. Instead she gave me more shit to be pissed about. But she also made me a total dork. You know how old people never listen to new music until it's on a commercial? Well, that's me. I also dress the same as I did like 10 years ago, totally oblivious to trends and can't be bothered with makeup most days. Congratulations Lila for making me totally lame.
OK. Now the hard part:
I hereby bestow the Blog on Fire Award to the following bloggers:
1. Tails of Motherhood
2. Pooping in Peace
3. People I Want to Punch in the Throat
4. OK in UK
5. 39 for the First Time
6. Bad Words
7. Just Plain Jayne
8. Taking it On
9. Adventures in Mommyhood
10. Shanimal's Crackers
And all I can think is, "THAT BITCH! I want that Goddamned icon on MY page. Maybe I will just steal it and say someone gave it to me." But as I read further down I saw something fucking incredible.
SHE AWARDED IT TO ME!!!
Not only did she give it to me (along with 9 other bloggers) but I was the FIRST which means that I am the best (I am feeling really humble today obviously).
So in order to claim my award, which I intend to do right now, I have to tell you "7 DEEP things about me" which is easy because some days I just LOVE to talk about myself, and pass it along to 10 awesome bloggers (harder because I have been stalking Attracted to Shiny Things so hard that I have barely read any other blogs in the last few weeks...)
Deep Things:
1. Although I have upwards of 400 friends on the Facebook, I have a mysteriously absent social life. Seriously. I don't know what happened to all my real life friends, but since I moved back to Upstate New York 3 years ago, I have had only a few outings that involved anyone other than my kid and her father. Perhaps I should be spending less time on the Facebook.
2. Just when I had gotten to the point where I didn't care that I was overweight, I outgrew my fat clothes. Now I have to lose weight. I was okay with not being skinny. I was. I went out and spent some money on big-girl sized clothes and was like "fuck it." Because in truth, I like chocolate cake WAY more than I liked being tiny-sized. So I accepted it and moved on. But apparently my ass didn't get the message that I was perfectly comfortable in a size 14. Because it thinks that a 16 or 20 would be more comfortable. Which would be fine, I guess. But I truly cannot afford to go and buy any more clothes. So the cake will have to wait.
 |
| That's me on the right. |
4. This is really hard. If I was just giving you random facts I would be able to do this, but "DEEP THINGS?" What the hell Yvonne?
5. I am a really shitty housekeeper. I hate cleaning and I have a 4 year old running around so you see how this is a problem. I never understood those people who get a rush from cleaning and organizing because I get the opposite. Cleaning drains me. It makes me want to die. Not to say my house is FILTHY. I clean. But I don't do all the maintenance stuff as often as I should (I refuse to clean toilets more than once a week and I force Ben to scrub the tub which only happens maybe once a month) but it gets done eventually. And I refuse to pick up Lila's crap more than once a day so generally shit stays strewn all over the house until she goes to bed at night. And don't get me started about the inside of my car.
6. I don't really believe in God but I believe in Serendipity. I was raised Catholic and always had a hard time swallowing the whole "God will punish you" thing because it just seemed that God had better things to do than watch teenagers masturbate or monitor my every thought for covetousness. So I stopped believing. But I never stopped believing that there is some kind of master plan and that everything happens for a reason. Not that we don't make our own choices. We do. And we go horribly off path. But in the end we always end up where we need to be.
7. I was afraid that my kid was going to destroy my shitty attitude and bad ass reputation. Instead she gave me more shit to be pissed about. But she also made me a total dork. You know how old people never listen to new music until it's on a commercial? Well, that's me. I also dress the same as I did like 10 years ago, totally oblivious to trends and can't be bothered with makeup most days. Congratulations Lila for making me totally lame.
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| I am working on bringing this look back. |
OK. Now the hard part:
I hereby bestow the Blog on Fire Award to the following bloggers:
1. Tails of Motherhood
2. Pooping in Peace
3. People I Want to Punch in the Throat
4. OK in UK
5. 39 for the First Time
6. Bad Words
7. Just Plain Jayne
8. Taking it On
9. Adventures in Mommyhood
10. Shanimal's Crackers
Thursday, July 21, 2011
DRIVING me crazy
There are hundreds of things I miss from my pre-Mommy days. I miss my body. I miss making spontaneous plans. I miss being able to leave the house without 2 hours of preparation and planning. But there is one thing that I am reminded of nearly every single day, and every day I miss it more and more.
I miss being able to zone out and think while driving.
Have you ever tried to concentrate on the road in a construction area where there is no shoulder and cars are merging in front and behind you with a 4 year old in the back seat? Do you have any idea how nerve racking that is?
Actual conversation that took place in heavy traffic yesterday:
What makes it worse is that she also constantly critiques my driving.
I miss being able to zone out and think while driving.
Have you ever tried to concentrate on the road in a construction area where there is no shoulder and cars are merging in front and behind you with a 4 year old in the back seat? Do you have any idea how nerve racking that is?
Actual conversation that took place in heavy traffic yesterday:
Kid: Mommy, what day is it?I have begged for quiet. I have tried to make a game of it. I have turned up the music to drown her out (which just makes her scream that it's too loud and that she has a headache). I have explained that Mommy needs to concentrate and just needs to not have to answer any more questions while I am driving. Nothing works.
Me: It's Tuesday.
Kid: Is it Tuesday?
Me: Yes. Today is Tuesday.
Kid: I think it's Wednesday.
Me: No. It's Tuesday. Trust me.
Kid: Is it going to be Thursday tomorrow?
Me: No. It's going to be Wednesday because today is Tuesday.
Kid: No it isn't Tuesday, it's Wednesday.
Me: Ok... Then you're right.
Kid: Is tomorrow Friday or Thursday.
Me: Tomorrow will be WEDNESDAY.
Kid: No tomorrow isn't Wednesday.
Me: Yes it is.
Kid: Today is Wednesday.
Me: No it isn't.
Kid: It's Wednesday and tomorrow is Thursday.
Me: OK. Let's play a game and see who can be quiet longer!
(6 seconds go by)
Kid: Mommy, what day is today?
What makes it worse is that she also constantly critiques my driving.
Why are you going so slow?I should be thankful that she is so curious about the world. I should be glad that she feels she can talk to me. Because I know that before I know it there will be slammed bedroom doors and refusals to listen. But JESUS CHRIST, can I just have a few quiet minutes in the car when I need it???
Why did you hit that bump?
Are we going to crash?
Why don't you go around that guy?
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
F**K YOU, GRAVITY!!!
Today I am going to talk to you about my boobs. Not that I think you want to know, but because I need to vent and this is my place to do that and so I am doing it.
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I remember a day not so long ago when I loved my boobs. Really. I did. As a younger, less self-conscious girl, I often thought my boobs were my nicest feature and although small they were perfectly round, symmetrical and perky.
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I loved my boobs so much I would sometimes get drunk and feel the need to show them to the whole bar! (Yup, I was THAT chick).
I remember that I was always dressing them up in pretty bras and cute tops that showed them just right so that they would feel how incredibly special and appreciated they were, because I knew that age (and someday possibly motherhood) would take their toll.
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When I got pregnant I cried because I knew that it would likely ruin my boobs forever. The prospect of them getting bigger was truly exciting for me, but I was totally disgusted by the idea of anything coming out of them, because up to this point, they were not functional. THEY WERE DECORATIVE. And I liked them that way. I was up for breastfeeding, but knew I wasn't going to be one of those mothers who stressed about it. If the kid took to it (and they worked properly) I would do it and if not, I had no real problem with giving her a bottle. But secretly, I think I hoped she wouldn't take to it because I dreaded the long stretched-out look that so many women ended up with after a year or so of having someone sucking at those things.
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Finally the baby came, and although she seemed to have no problem tearing into my boobs and getting her fill from them, the scabbing and pain (which the breastfeeding lady couldn't seem to fix for me) was more than I was willing to deal with in the days after having my entire mid-section opened and a baby pulled out of there. So I opted out. And then the milk came in. I was thrilled the day I looked in the mirror and saw this:
But they hurt like a bitch. Good thing I wasn't breastfeeding and could take a ton of the pain killers I had left over from my c-section to dull that shit. But that was temporary and within a year, everything was more or less back to normal except flatter and wider.
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This was not ideal, but I had a healthy (if not ill-tempered) baby girl to show for it and I had lost most of the weight without too much stressing. And honestly, stepping into the "Mommy" role made me totally uninterested in the state of my boobs, or the rest of my body for that matter. I HAD GROWN A PERSON INSIDE ME FOR CHRIST'S SAKE! What man could make THAT kind of claim?
For a couple of years I fell into that trap of not really bothering to shave my legs or trim the lawn or any of the other basic maintenance items that had been a total preoccupation for my younger, always-dating self. I put on weight, which made my boobs fill out again and under the right tee shirt with the right bra, they totally looked bigger, better and more awesome than ever!
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But the other day I was getting into the shower and for some odd reason (probably because it's bathing suit season again) I stopped in front of the full-length mirror naked and looked. This is what I saw:
WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MY BOOBIES??????
One was considerably bigger and the other was facing the wrong way! My nipples have slipped downward and they hang more to the side than the front now! I can only blame age and gravity (because I am NOT going to offend the several bowls of ice cream I enjoy each month) and can only imagine that this is normal and that most women have some kind of similar experience.
I felt betrayed. I mean, my boobs were like my buddies. I counted on them for a boost in self image when everything else failed me. Bad hair day? At least I have nice boobs! Face breaking out? My boobs sure look full today! Period cramps? At least my boobs look fantastic! And now that's all gone. What the hell am I going to do with them now? I can't sell them. No one would want them. And I can't keep them covered up all the time (although I may try). I suppose I could have implants and/or a nip/tuck kind of thing to yank them up to my chin but who the hell has the cash for that.
I suppose that in the end I will just have to accept that we had a good run and that the glory days of fantastic breasts are behind us. We went on many b-cup sized adventures together and I sure will miss the good old days of using you to seal the deal when I want to get backstage at a concert or just need some confidence for a date. I just hope I can stop getting choked up whenever I see a KFC ad.
![]()
I remember a day not so long ago when I loved my boobs. Really. I did. As a younger, less self-conscious girl, I often thought my boobs were my nicest feature and although small they were perfectly round, symmetrical and perky.
I loved my boobs so much I would sometimes get drunk and feel the need to show them to the whole bar! (Yup, I was THAT chick).
I remember that I was always dressing them up in pretty bras and cute tops that showed them just right so that they would feel how incredibly special and appreciated they were, because I knew that age (and someday possibly motherhood) would take their toll.
When I got pregnant I cried because I knew that it would likely ruin my boobs forever. The prospect of them getting bigger was truly exciting for me, but I was totally disgusted by the idea of anything coming out of them, because up to this point, they were not functional. THEY WERE DECORATIVE. And I liked them that way. I was up for breastfeeding, but knew I wasn't going to be one of those mothers who stressed about it. If the kid took to it (and they worked properly) I would do it and if not, I had no real problem with giving her a bottle. But secretly, I think I hoped she wouldn't take to it because I dreaded the long stretched-out look that so many women ended up with after a year or so of having someone sucking at those things.
Finally the baby came, and although she seemed to have no problem tearing into my boobs and getting her fill from them, the scabbing and pain (which the breastfeeding lady couldn't seem to fix for me) was more than I was willing to deal with in the days after having my entire mid-section opened and a baby pulled out of there. So I opted out. And then the milk came in. I was thrilled the day I looked in the mirror and saw this:
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| My boobs when the milk came in. |
This was not ideal, but I had a healthy (if not ill-tempered) baby girl to show for it and I had lost most of the weight without too much stressing. And honestly, stepping into the "Mommy" role made me totally uninterested in the state of my boobs, or the rest of my body for that matter. I HAD GROWN A PERSON INSIDE ME FOR CHRIST'S SAKE! What man could make THAT kind of claim?
For a couple of years I fell into that trap of not really bothering to shave my legs or trim the lawn or any of the other basic maintenance items that had been a total preoccupation for my younger, always-dating self. I put on weight, which made my boobs fill out again and under the right tee shirt with the right bra, they totally looked bigger, better and more awesome than ever!
But the other day I was getting into the shower and for some odd reason (probably because it's bathing suit season again) I stopped in front of the full-length mirror naked and looked. This is what I saw:
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| My boobs at the nude beach |
One was considerably bigger and the other was facing the wrong way! My nipples have slipped downward and they hang more to the side than the front now! I can only blame age and gravity (because I am NOT going to offend the several bowls of ice cream I enjoy each month) and can only imagine that this is normal and that most women have some kind of similar experience.
I felt betrayed. I mean, my boobs were like my buddies. I counted on them for a boost in self image when everything else failed me. Bad hair day? At least I have nice boobs! Face breaking out? My boobs sure look full today! Period cramps? At least my boobs look fantastic! And now that's all gone. What the hell am I going to do with them now? I can't sell them. No one would want them. And I can't keep them covered up all the time (although I may try). I suppose I could have implants and/or a nip/tuck kind of thing to yank them up to my chin but who the hell has the cash for that.
I suppose that in the end I will just have to accept that we had a good run and that the glory days of fantastic breasts are behind us. We went on many b-cup sized adventures together and I sure will miss the good old days of using you to seal the deal when I want to get backstage at a concert or just need some confidence for a date. I just hope I can stop getting choked up whenever I see a KFC ad.
All photos were the result of google searches.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Because I am lazy today
I am feeling kind of blah today so I am posting a Ten on Tuesday instead of a Mommy blog.
Questions from Roots and Rings where I will also be linking up!
1. From your childhood, what do you miss most about summer vacation?
Um...Having one? Unless you're a teacher you don't generally get 3 months off in the middle of the summer. I also miss fighting with the neighborhood kids about who rode their bike the fastest and staying outside ALL DAY LONG.
2. Are you going anywhere on vacation this summer?
Possibly to Lake George. Nowhere far or full of excitement. It's just too expensive right now to do anything. And Lila is JUST NOW getting to an age where she is sleeping like a normal person so we think it may be safe to intrude on my relatives for a long weekend.
3. What foods do you like to barbecue?
Meat. I love meat. I like to make kabobs with meat and veggies. However. I am terrified of the grill for some stupid reason so I make Ben do all the grilling.
4. How do you celebrate the fourth of July?
We try to go to the beach and see some fireworks. Pretty standard stuff. HOWEVER, the real excitement happens when we come home...We live in a city. And for some reason, my neighbors always think it's perfectly appropriate to come home after drinking all day and set off their own fireworks in the middle of the night. I cross my fingers and hope someone takes off a finger so they will knock it off but no one ever does.
5. What’s your favorite beverage to drink in the summertime?
My bevarage of choice year round is coffee. But my NEW summertime beverage is Pink Lemonade spiked with Cherry Vodka. I am sure there's a name for it but I call it Selena's Cherry Fantastic. I am going to have to go have one now. It's 5pm somewhere, right?
6. What movie are you looking forward to seeing this summer?
Eh.
7. In the car: windows down or AC?
AC. I lived in Arizona for 5 years and that spoiled me to the AC forever. I LOVE not having hot air blowing in my eyes for some reason.
8. Have you ever had a summer fling?
Hahahahahahaahaha! I plead the fifth.
9. Do you wear sunscreen?
I don't usually. Because I am stubborn and because I don't spend a ton of time in the sun. I like to get A LITTLE color when I do.
10. Do you have any favorite summertime activities?
Napping on hot days nude with the fan going. Does that count as a hobby?
Questions from Roots and Rings where I will also be linking up!
1. From your childhood, what do you miss most about summer vacation?
Um...Having one? Unless you're a teacher you don't generally get 3 months off in the middle of the summer. I also miss fighting with the neighborhood kids about who rode their bike the fastest and staying outside ALL DAY LONG.
2. Are you going anywhere on vacation this summer?
Possibly to Lake George. Nowhere far or full of excitement. It's just too expensive right now to do anything. And Lila is JUST NOW getting to an age where she is sleeping like a normal person so we think it may be safe to intrude on my relatives for a long weekend.
3. What foods do you like to barbecue?
Meat. I love meat. I like to make kabobs with meat and veggies. However. I am terrified of the grill for some stupid reason so I make Ben do all the grilling.
4. How do you celebrate the fourth of July?
We try to go to the beach and see some fireworks. Pretty standard stuff. HOWEVER, the real excitement happens when we come home...We live in a city. And for some reason, my neighbors always think it's perfectly appropriate to come home after drinking all day and set off their own fireworks in the middle of the night. I cross my fingers and hope someone takes off a finger so they will knock it off but no one ever does.
5. What’s your favorite beverage to drink in the summertime?
My bevarage of choice year round is coffee. But my NEW summertime beverage is Pink Lemonade spiked with Cherry Vodka. I am sure there's a name for it but I call it Selena's Cherry Fantastic. I am going to have to go have one now. It's 5pm somewhere, right?
6. What movie are you looking forward to seeing this summer?
Eh.
7. In the car: windows down or AC?
AC. I lived in Arizona for 5 years and that spoiled me to the AC forever. I LOVE not having hot air blowing in my eyes for some reason.
8. Have you ever had a summer fling?
Hahahahahahaahaha! I plead the fifth.
9. Do you wear sunscreen?
I don't usually. Because I am stubborn and because I don't spend a ton of time in the sun. I like to get A LITTLE color when I do.
10. Do you have any favorite summertime activities?
Napping on hot days nude with the fan going. Does that count as a hobby?
Thursday, May 26, 2011
My Mother's Daughter?
I know you are going to be shocked to hear this, but I really didn't turn out so great.
I dropped out of high school even though I was taking college-level classes simply because I refused to participate in gym class. I hated high school so much that I never bothered to apply to college. When I did go, I went to community college and only took classes I was interested in rather than actually attempting to follow some kind of curriculum. I dropped out of college too when I realized someone was going to have to pay for all those classes I enjoyed so much and then managed to throw my student loan into default during what can only be described as "one of my insane periods". This has ruined my chances of going back to school to get a degree so that I can make real money to actually pay back the loan so that I can go back to school to make real money...you get the idea.
And I blame the entire spiral on one person..MY MOTHER.
Yes, yes...I know. I am an adult and was when I went to college so how can I blame my mother for decisions I've made since that magical age when I should have been living alone and being responsible for myself?
Well, simple. Her parenting sucked.
And I am reminded of it every time I show up to pick up my kid and she is having a Hershey Bar at 5:00 pm (perfect for an appetizer I suppose) or when she demands that she IS NOT putting her shoes/coat/clothes on to leave because she doesn't have to do what my mother says. I am reminded when Lila comes home and tells me she played with the hose all day in March "because Grandma doesn't like it when I cry". I am reminded of it when I try to explain the concept of "time out" to my mother and she tells me it isn't nice to let Lila cry like that, even for a few minutes and that it "hurts Lila's feelings" when I yell at her.
My mother is a woman of no boundaries and fewer limits. It was her lack of limits that allowed me to have a 17 year old abusive boyfriend when I was 13 and allowed me to skip school and sleep in because everyone knew I could pass the test. It was her lack of limits which was the forerunner of my inability to delay gratification for ANYTHING until I was about 25 years old. And by then it was too late.
She never pushed me to do anything I didn't want to do, assuming that I was a strong kid and I would figure it out and she criticizes the way I refuse to allow Lila to do insane things (like take everything out of the refrigerator to keep her busy for 2 and a half minutes) even though it would "make Lila SOOO happy."
I parent NOTHING like my mother. I set rules and limits. Lila cannot stand up on the dining room table. She cannot act like an animal in Wal-Mart. She will not get Pepsi no matter how much she cries for it and I don't care if she wants a toy. I said no.
I am hoping that with a little guidance and direction, I will succeed where my mother failed me. I want Lila to find a life that suits her but also that is not full of missed opportunities and hurts that were totally unavoidable.
Oh, and I hope to spare her the 10 + years worth of therapy I have accumulated throughout the years.
Inspired by one of Mama Kat's weekly writing prompts:
Not your mother's daughter...how do you parent differently than your mother did? Is it a good thing or a bad thing?
I dropped out of high school even though I was taking college-level classes simply because I refused to participate in gym class. I hated high school so much that I never bothered to apply to college. When I did go, I went to community college and only took classes I was interested in rather than actually attempting to follow some kind of curriculum. I dropped out of college too when I realized someone was going to have to pay for all those classes I enjoyed so much and then managed to throw my student loan into default during what can only be described as "one of my insane periods". This has ruined my chances of going back to school to get a degree so that I can make real money to actually pay back the loan so that I can go back to school to make real money...you get the idea.
And I blame the entire spiral on one person..MY MOTHER.
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| My life after about 10th grade. (Image thanks to wired.com) |
Yes, yes...I know. I am an adult and was when I went to college so how can I blame my mother for decisions I've made since that magical age when I should have been living alone and being responsible for myself?
Well, simple. Her parenting sucked.
And I am reminded of it every time I show up to pick up my kid and she is having a Hershey Bar at 5:00 pm (perfect for an appetizer I suppose) or when she demands that she IS NOT putting her shoes/coat/clothes on to leave because she doesn't have to do what my mother says. I am reminded when Lila comes home and tells me she played with the hose all day in March "because Grandma doesn't like it when I cry". I am reminded of it when I try to explain the concept of "time out" to my mother and she tells me it isn't nice to let Lila cry like that, even for a few minutes and that it "hurts Lila's feelings" when I yell at her.
My mother is a woman of no boundaries and fewer limits. It was her lack of limits that allowed me to have a 17 year old abusive boyfriend when I was 13 and allowed me to skip school and sleep in because everyone knew I could pass the test. It was her lack of limits which was the forerunner of my inability to delay gratification for ANYTHING until I was about 25 years old. And by then it was too late.
She never pushed me to do anything I didn't want to do, assuming that I was a strong kid and I would figure it out and she criticizes the way I refuse to allow Lila to do insane things (like take everything out of the refrigerator to keep her busy for 2 and a half minutes) even though it would "make Lila SOOO happy."
I parent NOTHING like my mother. I set rules and limits. Lila cannot stand up on the dining room table. She cannot act like an animal in Wal-Mart. She will not get Pepsi no matter how much she cries for it and I don't care if she wants a toy. I said no.
I am hoping that with a little guidance and direction, I will succeed where my mother failed me. I want Lila to find a life that suits her but also that is not full of missed opportunities and hurts that were totally unavoidable.
Oh, and I hope to spare her the 10 + years worth of therapy I have accumulated throughout the years.
Inspired by one of Mama Kat's weekly writing prompts:
Not your mother's daughter...how do you parent differently than your mother did? Is it a good thing or a bad thing?
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Ancient History: 5 B.C.
I was sitting in a McDonald's with Lila the other day and overheard a woman talking about the good old days. Back in B.C. Before Children.
Let's take a little stroll through history, shall we?
5 years B.C. I could wake up on Sunday morning and have the whole day in front of me. The house would be quiet and the newspaper would be waiting for me. I would leisurely drink my coffee and peruse the paper and carefully weigh all the possibilities for the day ahead. Those days are gone.
In 5 B.C. I could get a phone call at 7pm on a Friday and be out the door in half an hour for a night on the town where I dressed sexy and got hit on all night by various attractive men offering to buy me drinks in the hopes that I would go home with them. That's over too.
In 5 B.C. if I was sick, I stayed in bed all day. Sometimes a friend or even my mom would come over to take care of me. I could watch movies or read or just sleep. Not so much anymore.
In 5 B.C. I worked to buy myself nice clothes, shoes, a car, and to support my habit of buying more books than I could read. I worked so that I could go out and eat with friends or offer to pay on dates. I always had money left over after paying my bills even though it was just me and no roommates. So much for that.
In 5 B.C. I lived alone. The only mess to clean up was mine (and MiMi, my cat's). I hardly cooked because it's no fun to cook for yourself and so I ate a lot more fast food, and yet never managed to gain any weight.
In 5 B.C. I had perfect boobs, a flat stomach and minimal cellulite. I showed off my body and if I chose to I could even sleep around if the mood struck me. Just because I was a hot young thing. I'm not anymore.
Let's take a little stroll through history, shall we?
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| All that's left of my life Before Children |
In 5 B.C. I could get a phone call at 7pm on a Friday and be out the door in half an hour for a night on the town where I dressed sexy and got hit on all night by various attractive men offering to buy me drinks in the hopes that I would go home with them. That's over too.
 |
| That's me on the left in blue at a rave in 2001 |
In 5 B.C. I worked to buy myself nice clothes, shoes, a car, and to support my habit of buying more books than I could read. I worked so that I could go out and eat with friends or offer to pay on dates. I always had money left over after paying my bills even though it was just me and no roommates. So much for that.
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| Me in my slutty clothes |
In 5 B.C. I had perfect boobs, a flat stomach and minimal cellulite. I showed off my body and if I chose to I could even sleep around if the mood struck me. Just because I was a hot young thing. I'm not anymore.
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| Me at dawn. I was 22 here. |
Today, Sunday mornings are loud and my day is left in her hands. It's impossible to have spontaneous plans pop up because I don't have a spur-of-the-moment babysitter and even if I did, I am so exhausted by the end of the day that I rarely stay up past 9pm. If I'm sick, too bad. Mom's don't get to call in sick. I work to buy my kid nice things. So that she can leave them all over the house for me to clean up. Today my boobs are heading south, my ass is expanding to unclaimed frontiers and there is a roundness to me that I can barely identify. It isn't pretty or sexy and I cannot remember the last time I thought about sex.
It's not that there aren't good points, Lila is the joy of my life in so many ways. But seriously, when you put it on paper it really makes me yearn for the good old ancient days of B.C.
(All photos were the result of a Bing Search and thumbnails. But the captions are mine)
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Lila ruins everything
They say that imitation is the highest form of flattery. Tell that to any mother of a preschooler and she'll tell you that it actually destroys worlds.
Every mom wants to share the things she loves with her children. For example, a favorite song or book or movie.
I used to love Joan Jett. I have seen her in concert a few times and always thought of "I Love Rock and Roll" as the summation of my childhood (I was a strange kid).
Lila also loves that song. In fact, she loves it so much that when I played the CD one time while driving her to the sitter, she "rocked out" through the whole song, then merrily shouted, "AGAIN!" By the third time, she was singing along to the chorus and "OOOOOW"-ing in that high-pitched voice of hers. Luckily, it only took 3 times to get where we were going.
But it didn't stop there. She needed it every time we got into the car. Some time around the 218th time in a row I heard it (and nothing else) while driving, I told her that I forgot the disc in the house. A full-on heartbreak ensued and she cried the entire trip to the grocery store and back. And even though I could have simply put it on because I was obviously lying, I didn't want her to know I was lying and so instead I endured her tears and whining.
Needless to say, I cringe when I hear it now.
She did the same to my favorite color, which used to be purple. Lila LOVES purple. And after painting her room purple, and getting her purple sheets, a purple rug, purple curtains, a purple bookcase and pretty much any toy that contains purple in it, she started to insist on wearing something purple every single day. We have A LOT of purple socks and underwear and she would only wear one pair of shoes (can you guess what they look like) every day if I would let her.
She has done this with Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, which was my favorite Disney movie. I hate it now. This happened with Tom and Jerry cartoons. It happened with a children's book I kept around BEFORE I EVER EVEN THOUGHT I MIGHT HAVE A KID, Ferdinand the Bull, which Lila wore out in a matter of days. It happens with foods, with games (I was thrilled the FIRST time she wanted to play Candyland. The 7,586th time? Not so much.).
Because preschoolers are nothing if not obsessive.
(Image from http://www.last.fm/music/Joan+Jett/+images/5113011)
Every mom wants to share the things she loves with her children. For example, a favorite song or book or movie.
I used to love Joan Jett. I have seen her in concert a few times and always thought of "I Love Rock and Roll" as the summation of my childhood (I was a strange kid).
Lila also loves that song. In fact, she loves it so much that when I played the CD one time while driving her to the sitter, she "rocked out" through the whole song, then merrily shouted, "AGAIN!" By the third time, she was singing along to the chorus and "OOOOOW"-ing in that high-pitched voice of hers. Luckily, it only took 3 times to get where we were going.
But it didn't stop there. She needed it every time we got into the car. Some time around the 218th time in a row I heard it (and nothing else) while driving, I told her that I forgot the disc in the house. A full-on heartbreak ensued and she cried the entire trip to the grocery store and back. And even though I could have simply put it on because I was obviously lying, I didn't want her to know I was lying and so instead I endured her tears and whining.
Needless to say, I cringe when I hear it now.
She did the same to my favorite color, which used to be purple. Lila LOVES purple. And after painting her room purple, and getting her purple sheets, a purple rug, purple curtains, a purple bookcase and pretty much any toy that contains purple in it, she started to insist on wearing something purple every single day. We have A LOT of purple socks and underwear and she would only wear one pair of shoes (can you guess what they look like) every day if I would let her.
She has done this with Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, which was my favorite Disney movie. I hate it now. This happened with Tom and Jerry cartoons. It happened with a children's book I kept around BEFORE I EVER EVEN THOUGHT I MIGHT HAVE A KID, Ferdinand the Bull, which Lila wore out in a matter of days. It happens with foods, with games (I was thrilled the FIRST time she wanted to play Candyland. The 7,586th time? Not so much.).
Because preschoolers are nothing if not obsessive.
(Image from http://www.last.fm/music/Joan+Jett/+images/5113011)
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