silly sphincter

silly sphincter

The newest large part of my job is cleaning public restrooms.

Now, you don't know me, but those of you who *do* can attest to the point that I rarely, if EVER, in my pre-Rio life used public restrooms. Well, not for tinkling anyway ... but I digress. I loathe the whole concept of zillions of random humans going into the same space to void their interiors. It absolutely creeps me right the fuck out. *shivers*

Once again, my daughter is teaching me to embrace, literally, the unknown. I had the first inkling of impending disaster when we went to Florida in March. She was new at the training thing; interested in M&M's but not overly concerned with perfection. We were in JFK and I could clearly see that anyone who's job it was to pick up anything, anywhere in the airport, had been fired. The place was a disgusting pit. We're shlepping from one terminal to the another one across town* and I stop to get her a book to read in her stroller. She spies the M&M's and immediate starts to wail, "I HAVE TO GO TINKLE ON THE POTTY!" and I try to whisper, quite aware of how much of an asshole I would sound like if overheard, "You can tinkle in your dizzle. I'll give you a tinkle treat anyway," but she persisted with the hollering about tinkle and potty and right now pleeeeeeease so I was forced to capitulate.

I have her stand in the corner of the stall while I scrub the whole toilet and anything else she might come in contact with with wet wipes. And no gloves. I literally was wretching and scrubbing and the smells have not been forgotten and all manner of detritus that needed to be coaxed off with a barely protected fingernail - I'll be right back, I gotta hurl ...

Anyway, we always tinkle before we go out so that's under control. She's still a poop holdout cuz she doesn't like to go. ?? So she waits until the last possible second. Only problem? She's not sure exactly which second is the last second, so we have a lot of 'maybe' mania lately. She'll give me the hysterical, "I gotta poop the potty right now!" and I scrambled like a lunatic to clean a public stall without vomiting because she can't prepare herself for a goddamned trip to the grocery store.

So far today I've scrubbed a toilet in the following locals:

*BJ's: has the added bonus of the motion sensor that I have to disarm and cover before she sees it because they scare her to death. You can totally disarm the sensor by draping a wet wipe over it :)

*Old Navy: I just tell myself that all those skinny girls don't eat so they probably don't poop, either...

*Whole Foods Market: at this point I know it's a game cuz she really just wants to go in there to look at the baby changing table. She hollers until I wipe that down, too, and unfold it to show her and throw myself between her and random baby ass germs because she's convinced touching it will bring passage to Nirvana.

*Cold Stone Creamery: People, if you're fucking lactose intolerant STOP EATING MOTHERFUCKING ICE CREAM, WOULDYA? enough said.

In the toystore she gave me the look and I said, "Forget it. We're going home right now and I think you'll be okay. Let's go!" and we begin the mad dash home. Now I'm looking in the mirror at her pinched face and I start to feel wretched because that's how you always feel when you used to have a job where you bossed people around and had meetings and wore clean clothes and you leave all that behind to raise a child from scratch with no experience and you are actually losing weight burning so many calories with epic amounts of self doubt...

*breeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeathe*

... we make it home. Our bathrooms are all clean. Truth? They sort of smell like a train station where hobos live because she likes to look when she tinkles so there is tinkle everywhere and if I don't clean the bathrooms every day, which believe it or not I don't always have time to, well, they no longer always smell like lavendar Mrs. Myers. Fucking shoot me. You try keeping this joint spotless and have all the ironing done and it takes half a day to go to three stores with all the "Can I ride the boat? Don't put money in it. I don't want it to go fast. Just catch me!" and all the scrubbing....

*breeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeathe*

I get her on the potty. She is clearly in distress and still trying to squeak 4 more minutes of poop ownership out of today ... she tries to scoot of the potty and I say, "No way. You have to poop. We'll wait!" and she says, "No, I don't. I have to play marbles!" and as I'm guiding her ass back to the seat she poops on my leg a little bit.

Needless to say she's feeling better after, um, the successful and rather massive transfer of ownership. Me? Me, you ask? I'm still a little shocky that this is the high point/most exciting part of my day.

:)

now i get it!

now i get it!

For the haters in the group, I will admit to having a pretty perfect kid. No real tantrums, and that handful at age two were weak, at best. We talk about things; there is rarely a need for a timeout; I believe my toddler to be a reasonable little person.

No longer.

I understand how you can want to slap your kid - after tossing the evil dwarf across the room and into her bed.

Last night she decided she'd sleep with us. We did the usual 'comfort Rio and discuss irrational fears and read her a story and everyone goes to sleep' routine. Except. Last night she decided she was having none of it.

"I sleep with you. I don't sleep in my bed." and that little gem was repeated 20 or so times. It was replaced, at midnight, by "I CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN'T SLEEEEEEEEP IN MYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED"!!!!! at the very top of her lungs for just over an hour. Thoughtfully, she repeatedly brought the insane monkey show to the foot of our bed in the unlikely event we couldn't hear her histrionics.

I calmly took her back to bed about 30 times. I calmly picked her up off the floor and managed to get that elastic-arms-straight-over-head wormlike body up and into her bed again and again. I calmly blocked the fade left/shoot right move she used to try to get by me to the more malleable Bear. (She completely telegraphs, by the way, and always goes left fade/right run. Dumbass.) I calmly, and wisely, put one earplug in and put her over that shoulder so I'd be able to hear today. Bear and I snipped at one another because it's not okay to take things out on a child. I laughed at her absurd anger and cried at her frustration. But I held the line.

***

Parenting is hard. It is one thing to imagine your child pushing against the imaginary bubble of her world; desperately needing that bubble to remain solid so she can focus her energies on exploring the unknown - safe in the knowledge that her world is secure. It is quite another to stand in the face of that category 5 storm and hold that line for her.

I'm proud of myself today. I didn't give. All the shingles blew off but I kept the damaging rains away. I hear her now, just awakening, and she's singing.

***

If she pulls that shit again today, watch for her on Ebay.

push, pull, repeat

push, pull, repeat

She's very into testing these days. It's exhausting but I keep trying to remember her job is to poke, push, pull, pinch, etc., and mine is to love, love, love, and understand. I feel like I'm 87 years old!

But! Occasionally she reaches outside the mommy torture arena. Half an hour after Bear left for work this morning she came to me, face twisted in angst.

Mommy, Daddy forgot to kiss me goodbye.

Bear, welcome aboard. I don't want you to feel like you're missing the fun.

further proof i'm insane

further proof i'm insane

Horchow sends me emails. They know I'm insane, but they think I'm rich, too. Anyway, today they sent a missive inviting me to decorate by my horoscope.

Hell's Bells!

I do believe in:
*life after death
*ignorance being bliss
*haircolor that makes your hair soft
*peace
*ghosts
*huge government conspiracies
*UFOs
*random acts of kindness

I do not believe in:
*horoscopes

So imagine my surprise when I discovered that, with the sole exception of that awful turquoise lamp which must be included as some sort of bizarre taste test, I loveloveLOVE every single recommendation!

Horchow, you get me. That is kinda scary.

***

Those of you who really get me, well, you know I'm trying to bury that last post with fluff. I've found, through extensive research, that fluff is not good burying material. Alas...

bushwacked

bushwacked

My best friend Marion knows me like no one else does. She can even see my face, read my expressions, dry my tears when my head is full-on buried in the sand. She's good like that. We are always talking books, books, more books. I'll hear an author on NPR and call her about it. She'll give me a bag of books when I visit - having faith I'll find the time to read. When I get in a great book, I steal time everywhere. Stop lights. Nap time. Book in lap under the table while everyone eats. I'm at my thieving best when engrossed.

A while ago she called and said, "You must go buy this book today. It can NOT wait. It's a mother-daughter tale that will give you hope." Then she called and asked if I'd gotten it yet three days in a row! I went to Barnes and Noble on day three because I need that hope.

***

My relationship with my mother is, um, ridiculously complicated. My childhood could fill 10 volumes but I can't/haven't/won't find the voice to write the stories. I struggle daily with trying to conduct a mother-daughter relationship while standing on a still smoking battlefield. She continues to litter the landscape with incendiary devices. With regularity I wander into long forgotten minefields. I'm getting an eye twitch just writing this ...

I was hoping to gain some insight with this Marion-must-read. Maybe the author found a way to deal with borderline personalities in a wonderful and creative way. Maybe the troublesome mother had an epiphany and she started, even at a late date, being a mother. Maybe the troubled daughter discovered a new brainwashing technique and found sleep at long last.

I made many suppositions from Marion telling me hope could be wrought from the pages of a book. I assumed it was written by a daughter. I assumed we shared problematic parenting. I assumed there was action to be had; closure to be found; resolution to finally patch the holes of the soul.

Come Back was so much more.

***

I gave the book to Bear and said, "This is me. I am the damaged girl. I am angry and wounded beyond the damage done to bones and organs. I am also the mother. Possessing knowledge of evil and powerless over it. Some days I fear every second I am awake. This book will help you understand the bad days."

He read it and it helps.

***

I started EMDR again. If I refuse to parent with fear at the wheel, I have to open the trunk where I stuff bad things. I have to take them out and examine and banish. I know why I have a hard pit in my stomach, I'm just afraid of it. I know the power is gone but like a spent nuclear blast, it still makes me sick. Makes my hair fall out. Makes me fear the light ... especially that crack of light in the deep of the night that invades the peaceful sleep of childhood.

***

I will stand and face my fears. I will leave things behind that I've carried for far too long. I will keep no secrets and I will allow the joy of motherhood to be mine.

Claire, thanks for stopping by. This has been stuck in my throat for a while now. I struggle with giving horror a name, a face, a story. Your bravery and honesty is an inspiration. Thank you.

the power of the train.

the power of the train.

I have used Thomas the Train and his little crackhead train friends to bribe my daughter into using the potty all.the.time.

Thank you, Thomas. Thank you, Chinese people who painted them with lead paint. Thank you, random person who somehow knew talking trains would appeal to children. Thank you, said talking train series inventor, for naming the train town "Sodor" which makes me think of "sodomy" which makes me giggle.

She's really growing up. Happily, I'm resisting successfully.

so far this morning ...

so far this morning ...

heard over the monitor

rio: Mommmmy! Get in here and snuggle me! Bring Jacky Boo Boo Boo!

***

heard from the staircase

bear: C'mon Rio. We gotta go upstairs

rio: I can't! I'm stuck in Boston!

bear: Huh? What are you smoking?

***

ring ring

me: H'lo Valencia

v: *sleepy groaning noises

me: Why do you always call me the second you wake up to tell me how tired you are?

v: I thought you liked that. (laughs) No, I called to tell you to check Facebook. I have the funniest pictures from last night. There's a really good one of me and my friend (who's a girl) smooching.

***

She is so fortunate I can't figure out how to link to a Facebook picture :) She'll be here at the end of the month and I can't wait! Now we must get ready for Bear's work picnic. He has to wear long sleeves because no one knows about his tattoos. Ah, corporate America.

I swore I wouldn't think about Michael Vick ...

I swore I wouldn't think about Michael Vick ...

... but I can't help it.

With the pressure of raising a loving and kind human at the forefront of my mind, well, I'm busy. I read the paper once a week and I'm often way behind on 'Breaking Britney News' and the rest of the non-news that is covered to death.

So when the Vick story broke, it took me a few days to catch it. Here it is. I have to cruise through and try not to get the details of the horrifying claims or I'll never sleep again. I still can't get my mind around the fact that people can abuse animals; the scope of his alleged crimes numbs the mind and sickens the soul. With his cohorts turning on one another at a frenzied pace, and details details details satisfying our current 'if it bleeds it leads' media mentality, it is tough to shut out the images. I'm on a strictly TIVO diet. The flashes of dogs being carried out of the compound, and knowing their probable fate, has left me sore inside.

When Bear got up to take over Monkey Princess duty this morning I foolishly watched the news. I saw a handsome man in a gorgeous suit and then saw the name
"Michael Vick" appear on a banner beneath him. The story said he had until 9 this morning to agree to a guilty plea with federal prosecutors. So, from 6am until now I've been nervously checking the internet. Apparently no news source has been informed of his decision. My stomach still churns.

So, I'd like to offer Mr Vick my advice.

Michael Vick:

Don't take the deal! It could affect your NFL career. I gather your camp is very concerned about the Player Conduct rules. From what I've read you're concerned with your ability to play in the future. You're in such a gray area you should totally try to ride it out.


Don't take the deal! The offer is 1-2 years in a federal prison. They are very bad places. Some unfortunate person with nothing to hope for could try to harm you just to make a name. You could win at trail, right?


Don't take the deal! You'll probably be able to wait until the hullabaloo dies down and strike a much better deal, re-sign your endorsement contracts, start for the Falcons again with a multi-year multi-million dollar contract, and maybe even reignite your kennel business.


Okay, Michael Vick, you can stop reading now.


Everyone else - pray (or whatever you do. just do it hard) that his arrogance makes him refuse the deal. Pray that he gets a jury of *my* peers; people who save animals. Pray that karma is real. Pray that hell is real. Pray that he miraculously pops a conscience and it bothers him every second of every day for the rest of his wretched life. Pray there's an afterlife. Pray this follows him there. Pray the NFL has more than footballs and bans him for life. Pray that he is required to answer for each and every crime he committed.

Pray that the judge in his case loves a dog.

di di di di di di dilemma

di di di di di di dilemma

I wonder - should I allow her to watch Barney? It seems incredibly inane to me, but all the kiddies groove on it. Last week in a restaurant a kid who could not have been 2, sat down and sang the whole song perfectly ...

Rio woke up at 3 am and would NOT go back to sleep. She begged me to stay with her because of the cricket noise, and then she stuck her fingers in my nose and 'roared' me awake 15 times in a row ... while all this is going on she was gleefully and loudly singing:

I love you
You love me
I love you I love you
And the crickets are noisy
And guy has blue hair
I love you!

I love you
You love me
I love love love love
I'm a little hot and sweaty. Mommy, get me a cold drink.
Please.
Now.
I love you!
A cold drink?

I feel insane today. Evidently we woke Bear up, who was still blissfully alone in our bed, with all our hollering. She kept going 'roar!' whenever I dozed off. Every time I made a move to leave her room she'd jump under the covers and scrinch her eyes closed. In short - she played me like piccolo. All the while butchering that frigging song. I lay there and debated whether to sing it to her once, this hellacious refrain that festers in the common unconscious, SO I COULD GET SOME FUCKING SLEEP! I didn't. She's now turned it into a freestyle rap/spoken poetry type of deal.

I love you
You love me
Let's paint with our fingers, mingers, chlingers
And sing!
I love you

***

I'm so toasty I can hear my eyelids open and shut when I blink. Send help. Please. I swear, I did NOT read the fine print in my contract and I need to know if I will ever get a vacation and if it will be paid. If I have a nervous breakdown and need to be institutionalized - does the crazy monkey go with me? The whole 'satisfaction of a job well done' aspect is crap when you're exhausted. I wish I had a job with a desk so I'd have someplace to rest my head ...

Ooo, the 'I love you' refrain has tapered off. I better fall asleep fast so she can scream like a banshee in the middle of my REM and give me the jitters for the rest of the day and night .... tata!

the Mother Teresa trading card?

the Mother Teresa trading card?

Seriously? Seriously! I wonder if I win the MT card I could slip it at the Pearly Gates.

me: No.Fucking.Way! Heaven! Pearly Gates! (gnaws on gate bar with teeth..) Holy crap! They're real pearl! (notices man in robes. or dress. whatever, right?) You must be Peter. I bet that was a tough name as a kid, huh?! *snickers*

Saint Peter: (frowning a bit..) Let me check my list ...

me: (throws out hand for a handshake) Top of the mornin' to ya! Wait, that was Patrick, right? Did you know he wasn't Irish? It's true! Anyway, (grasps his unwilling hand, slipping the Mother Teresa trading card into his psalm, uh palm) I was told this little baby will cut through a lot of paperwork, know what I mean?

Saint Peter: ....

me: Serious. It's got a COA from a very reputable firm. Hey, is she around? Does she still have to maintain that vow of brokeass, or what? Do I have to wear a robe cuz in Heaven I'm wicked thin. It would be a shame to cover this action up, know what I'm sayin'?

Saint Peter: I suspect attire shan't be a problem ...

***

And that, good folks, is your unwelcome morning peak into my psyche. If I've offended you, I am sorry. But what are you doing here? I've been dead. There's no h(H)eaven, silly rabbits. But there *is* more than this so be nice. And let someone merge once in a while ....

begging, lying, and bribing

begging, lying, and bribing

I'm a little persuasive. And I'm one of those people who are totally comfortable slipping a bill. You know, like a sawbuck. Somewhere in my complex make-up, there is a healthy dose of 30's noir.

Anyway. When we got the postcard announcing the Hopper exhibit, I jumped up and down with sheer joy. Bear is also a fan, although not so rabid. The postcard came at the beginning of the year and we foolishly felt we had tons of time to make it.

You know where this is going, right?

We finally head in on Sunday because, you know, it ends next week. We take the train cuz trains are fun! And Rio loooooves trains! And trains are fun! So, we go right to Ruggles station and make the quick walk to the museum. We stand in line to buy our tickets and are informed there is nothing available until 4:30. People, it's before noon and we have a 3 year old with us. So, we wander and look and strategize. We have lunch and figure we'll play it by ear.

Long story short - nothing can be done. I tried a few avenues. A lovely girl recommended trying to trade tickets with someone so I do that. After going downstairs and seeing about not picked up 'will calls'. And trying to bribe the guards. With no choice, I start approaching strangers and trying to get them to exchange their 1:30 tickets for 4:30 tickets. I have a song and dance routine but no one is willing to change. In the meanwhile, Bear is carrying Rio on the escalator and going up and down and up and down because the only thing more fun than a train, is an escalator. No lie - maybe 70 times. He says, "Let's bail. I'm soaked with sweat and I don't think this is gonna work," and I say, "On your next trip down hit the ATM and get me some cash!", which he does.

So now I'm doing my song and dance, holding the tickets up with a $20 folded and facing the people. Now I'm getting better and real excuses.

"We totally would but we have dinner plans right afterward."
"We totally would but 12 members of our family are meeting here for this."
"We totally would but we are seeing a house at 4:30."

Then one couple of french dudes. The one who understood the most english looked at our tickets and said to his friend, "Take the money - our tickets are for the same time!" and I just walked away from those fuckers because I totally understood what he was saying! Who said a french speaking Mexican doesn't make sense??!!

Bottom line, after about an hour of my public humiliation the lovely girl walked over to Bear on one of his up escalator rides and said, "I think I saw you drop these...". She had 2 tickets in her hand. Bear said, "No, my wife has the tickets over there, trying to trade," but my spidey sense already had me headed in her direction. I thanked her profusely, traded my tickets out and gave her a quick hug. She said she saw me working so hard and I wasn't just trying to get ahead of line, I was really trying soooo hard to see the show and she'd never seen anyone make so many trips on an escalator to keep a kid entertained!!! and so she 'found' a couple of 11am tickets not claimed so we got right in.

The show was great. Well worth seeing again, which I just may. But internets, I think I should do something for that girl. I have her name. Should I write a letter, not detailing her deed lest she get in hot water, but extolling her extraordinary virtues? Except her boobs? But including her amazing red-gold hair? Or maybe flowers to her at the museum? What do you think would be the best thing to do for her? Fire away!

how to fuck with people in the nicest of ways

how to fuck with people in the nicest of ways

I now live in Massachusetts. My entire childhood in Vermont was spent calling residents of this state, 'Massholes'. When I got my plates here, I wanted to get the Spanish word for 'hole' but I forgot to look it up and then the moment passed but whatever ...

These people are the worst drivers in America, second only to Rhode Island. I live right on the border of the two states ...

I've figured out how to totally mess with them. I let them into traffic. I stop for pedestrians. I slow down for yellow lights. I GO THE MOFO SPEED LIMIT AND I NEVER DRAG THEIR STUPID KIDS IN MY GRILL BECAUSE I'VE JUST GONE THROUGH THEIR NEIGHBORHOOD AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT AND ONE OF THEIR LITTLE FUCKERS IS STUCK IN MY WHEELS POSSIBLY SLOWING ME DOOOOWWWWWNNNNN!

No exaggeration, whenever I slow down for a yellow light, allow a car to merge or do anything else that may be identified as considerate, some asshole, or Masshole as it were, will beep. And give me the finger. And yell. Loud. This happens to me every single day. I wish this wasn't true, but I swear on my pile of newly deceased friends and relatives that it's the honest truth. I've spent an inordinate amount of brain space, taking away from the every important lottery brain space, trying to craft an effective bumpersticker.

Most are too long. Maybe one of you fine folks could help with editing. Brevity is not my forte.... Here are a few. See if you can find any unnecessary verbiage:

*Please back the fuck off, you total asshole. There is exactly 4 inches between me and the car in front of me and no I won't get any closer! Additionally, I can see up your nose, you're so close, and there is a bat in the cave.

*If you rear-end me, as it would seem you're bound and determined to do, I will sue you so hard and so long and I won't rest until you're ruined and you have no choice but to become my bitch - living in the basement, doing my bidding, washing the cars and cleaning earwax out of my dog's ears.

*I hope your child is as much of an asshole as you appear to be because it would be sad if that little face was actually MISSED after being smeared across the intersection because you HAVE TO BEAT THE LIGHT EVEN THOUGH YOURS IS THE 5TH MINIVAN FULL OF KIDS TO CAREEN THROUGH THIS RED LIGHT!!! CROSSING THE INTERSECTION!

*It's called 'the speed limit'. I won't go faster because I don't want to die in a fiery crash AND I love my child and my dog. I realize I'm going slow enough for you to hit the back of my car with your Dunkin Donuts cup (which doesn't mean you had to go ahead and chuck it), but I suspect you are the littering sort anyway ...

*See the top of my carseat? I know you can! We're going 70 in the slow lane and you're so fucking close to my ass that I can count your eyelashes. Well, this carseat means that, at great personal discomfort, I cranked out a small human in an effort to balance the karma of that video game playing, 'on-board-television' watching, high fructose corn syrup slugging, ill-tempered, over-scheduled monster that is half hanging out of the carseat behind you. Hang up the phone and train your rearview on something besides your puckered smokers mouth. See? That's your kid. Drive like you give a shit, okay? OKAY?

So, yeah, see what you can do to make these viable. I'll totally get one printed for you, too!

In the meanwhile, I'll be that odd soul surrendering your right-of-way to you.

do go gentle ...

do go gentle ...

Jesusa, my father's mother, passed at 4am. I knew her briefly when I was an infant. Evidently she would dress me up and walk me all over in my proper little pram, proudly showing her world her first grandchild.

Then my parents split for the first time. It's a long and messy story. Back and forth across the country; my brother being conceived and then born too early. Two very young and volatile individuals fighting over everything, especially 'the children'. So, I didn't know my father's side until I was 30. By that time, my grandmother wasn't able to remember me. Dementia met her first. Disconcerting, the aunts saying too loudly,"Ma! This is Roy's daughter! Nita!" and seeing the blankness where I'd occupied such a small space, so long ago.

I'm not going to the funeral. Lots of reasons. Together, the case is made for me to stay here with my family. One aunt doesn't speak to me because of everything that went down when Bear and I brought my sister out here. V was in danger of flunking out of school and I thought we could help. Give her stability. Unconditional support. A place to be herself. I have no regrets for trying; we're all better for it so I'll take the fallout and not be sorry for it at all. But I'm not looking forward to that drama.

I am fond of the family members I've gotten to know and I particularly adore 2 aunts and their husbands. Wonderful and warm people. Glad they're family. But I feel like an interloper. I abhor funerals and I've been to far too many just since the ringing of the new year.

I hope I can sufficiently support my little sister from here. She's going to fly out right after the funeral and I plan to spoil her and love her up. That kid has had some serious losses in her young life. I hope she understands I'm here for her every second and I eat my veggies and get checkups and fully plan to live for an unattractively long time ... for both my girls. All my girls.

***

I look at Rio, clopping through the kitchen this morning in her pajamas and plastic heels with marabou, smiling and just plain happy, as is her norm. When she's decked out in heels and painted toenails I see my mother's outrageous mother - Vivian. Vivian's entire shoe wardrobe consisted of gold, silver and red shoes. Most had jewels.

I see myself in her sense of timing and snarky edge.

Bear's scientific nature is hugely represented in my child who will peer at the wonders in a patch of grass for an hour straight, asking about every little element.

Most certainly my delicate and particular mother-in-law is represented in her broad and ready smile and her natural grace. There are moments when my child looks exactly as my mother did at her age - the turn of her nose and curve of her lip ...

I know Jesusa's blood runs in Rio's veins but, sadly, I can't recognize it.

i see you. wait, no i don't. yay! there you are!

i see you. wait, no i don't. yay! there you are!

As Leips* postulated, it's just an ocular migraine. They're so fun; you should totally get one! Luckily, I didn't get the whopper headache that is the accompaniment for many people. I haven't changed my eating, I don't drink too much and I don't drink every day, I don't take pills or do recreational drugs. It would seem that ssssssssssstrrrrrrrrrrrrrressssssssssssss might be the probable cause.

So, what kind of seeing eye dog do you think I should get? And can I just shave this motherfucking mop of hair if I'm doomed to blindness? I won't have to look at my crazed self, and I'll be so comfortable! And blindness, flashy-bluish-StarTreky or otherwise, means no ironing, right? RIGHT? If these blindness thingies are caused by stress, don't stand close to me because at some point in the near future my eyeballs are very likely to come torpedoing off the front of my skull like feet off a Superman ride ...

But, know what's fun? Your medical history for a stranger.

Dr Darling: So, any history of eye problems in your family?

me: No. Wait. Yeah. My grandfather had a retina detach at our house one Christmas. Oh, and then he had macular degeneration.

Dr Darling: How well does your grandfather see?

me: Not so great. He's dead.

Dr Darling: Oh, um, sorry. How about any other health issues in your family.

me: Oh, well, Mom has lots of unsubstantiated heart attacks and nervous breakdowns. Her mom, well, she's been dead for more than 20 years. But she was a diabetic. Adult onset. Might have been vodka induced. My mom's sister had an early and kind of bizarre hysterectomy. My father's side... Well, my grandmother is dying right now. Literally. They're counting breaths. I guess everyone else is okay. Well, except for one aunt who's on her 3rd set of hips. Oh, and another had brain surgery last year for an aneurysm. Oh, and an uncle died of colon cancer. Wait, and two aunts are diabetics, too. Oh, and one has Lupus. My brother is hypoglycemic, but he was wicked early. Yeah, that's about all.

Dr Darling: ...

me: A lot of them live or have lived in the midwest ...

***

Have I mentioned I recently got life insurance at the superior health rate?!!

***

But stress induced? I can't imagine! Bear drove us home - me with my pupils dilated AND relaxed AND full of 4 other things dripped in them. Left me home with the monkey who, blessed child, took a big fat nap. Yay! When she got up I could pretty much see again.

Unfortunately neither poorly enough to overlook the mayhem, nor well enough to avoid the shit piles.

Yup. Diarrhea. First, though, great protestations of 'I don't want to poop. It's going to be too big. I'll just wait. Please can I have a dizzle?!' We're working on poop on the potty so lots of naked time and no dipes. Am I brilliant or what? What, so then she took off for the bathroom. Somewhere along the way a chunk the size of a can of beans busted loose, so when she hit the pot it was dribbles. I kept her on the potty and cleaned up. I found the chunkalunk by, you guessed it, stepping on it. Load one into the washing machine and 10 minutes spent cleaning both of us up. On pretty much most of both of our bodies. About 15 minutes later I caught a blur out of the corner of my still blurry vision and then I stepped in the liquid shit trail and she hit the other two rugs she missed on the first run. I finally gave her a diaper. Maybe it was a ski hat. Who knows? I still can't really see ...

Um, so, yeah. Things are much better and I'm feeling relieved it's only stress induced blindness. It should pass in no time at all.

*The doctor knew Leips cuz he was a resident when Leips was at school! Leips is family to me. Or, as I told his pal, Dr Darling, "Leip's dad and my mother's ex 4th husband are really good friends. So, he's like part of my family. " Not that he'll admit it, but it's true ....

it's not a tumor

it's not a tumor

at least, I hope it's not.

I'm off to the eye doctor because I keep losing chunks of my vision in swoopy bluish-white fuzz balls. Fun, huh? I also feel like my neck is being squeezed by an unseen hand and I haven't really been able to sleep without elephant tranqs. Suppose there are any connections?!

I'll let you know how it goes.

gone to the dogs

gone to the dogs

When I read this, I got pretty far into the article thinking it was about dogs. Something's wrong with my melon, fer sure!

we rock and we roll with so much soul ...

we rock and we roll with so much soul ...

We can dance, if we want to:



We can beat our friends' behinds:



I swear, she can spell her name AND write it! She starts with the 'I', then the 'O', then an 'R' right where it belongs. She can NOT be convinced to write it any other way. Three is so magical I could shove her sometimes.

***

Still swirling. Still trying to breathe. My sister is coming soon and we all know she makes for great material.

:)

yea, save it for the in-laws

yea, save it for the in-laws

First thing this morning I woke up with burning eyeballs. Fever much? Of course my favorite in-laws, Mama Bear and Big Ed, were coming today.

Rio and I just chilled around the house today. I've been working on bribes/treats/negotiations for pooping on the potty. We are 100 mothereffing percent on tinkles. Every time she tinkles it's like a parade, which I think helps. She'll jump up and say 'Mommy! Mommy! I have to tinkle on the potty! C'mon! Grab everybody!' and takes off. I grab a Guy and whatever else we're playing with and race after her to the WC. Then she stands there and waits for me to take down her pants and hold her hand while she steps onto the stool in a manner I can only imagine is well at home at Buckingham Palace, and perches. Then she tinkles, I clean her up, we wash hands and she says, 'Now I'll have one brown sugary tinkle treat, please!' and I serve her a Junior Mint. What a life!

But today I let her look at the poop-on-the-potty enticement box. All her favorite things: trains, games, PopRocks, etc ... and she grabbed a train and wouldn't let go. Major negotiations going on. I won't bore you. Mostly cuz you'll want to pull your hair out. I did. Barely out of bed, not feeling hot and I gotta chase a bare assed monkey around and grab a train from her.

I'm not exaggerating when I say HOURS of talking about pooping and special treats and all that crap.

Cut to the in-law visit.

Fun, fun, fun. Fun dinner. Fun dessert. Rio excuses herself from the table and goes over to her train table and stands on one foot. That, my friends, is her poop move. One heel and a pained expression. And then, "Hey Nana Peachy, I'm pooping!".

Like the stench didn't give her away ....

ground glass slurpee

ground glass slurpee

We had an incident this weekend in Vermont - me and Rio. She got hurt and I got scared. I don't wish to discuss the particulars for many reasons so please, don't ask. She woke a sleeping dog who bit her. The dog totally pulled back in the nick of time. The bite was a bite, but it was a 1 on the 1 - 10 scale. She's fine. It's me. I'm not okay. I got so scared that I can't stop being scared now. And that scares me.

I had a cloud of black descend. It was tangible and cold and not so much cloud-like as steel-blade-like. I realized that my flight/fight instinct is still in conflict.

***

I grew up in a house where I had to stay. I should have left. I wanted to. I planned it and thought about it - where I'd go, how I'd get there, how I'd live. But I stayed for my brother. We never talk about it but I think we were both there for each other and I think we both would have been better off making a break for it.

So, when it gets bad now, I run. I run a lot. I'm comfortable walking, jogging, running away, disappearing. That is a choice for me now. I like that.

***

She got hurt. Not bad enough for the ER, but bad enough for me to literally gag on the guilt rushing down my throat with every breath. So I ran. When I called Bear from the car he said, "Don't be ridiculous. You can't drive all night - you won't get here until daybreak. It's dangerous. She's fine. You're fine. Stay."

Of course he was right. Everything was fine but my instinct had been jump-started and I'm still trying to find the 'off' switch.

***

All this leaves me hurting for my motherhood. I forge my own way every day. I make all the decisions and I know they're good because I have to believe that. We've had tough and scary times, but mostly we have happy and delightful times. Days on end with no harsh words even. The Universe has seen fit to give me a child of even disposition who is absolutely a joy in every way. She's filled with laughter and light. She's safe and sound and happy and healthy.

And I'm a ground glass slurpee. The inner doubts grinding against each other. The sharp pangs of doubt have been replaced with a general sense of discomfort; bearable and ever-present. I battle daily to enjoy motherhood. My fears bite at me constantly. I don't know how I could go on if anything ever happened. I think I would literally *poof* out of existence.

***

This will pass. I'm working on some things, ways to be better. Of healthier mind and body. Working to banish the fear and doubt. Working to see the reality and feel the wonder and happiness we have in our little family. I get furious when the rough seas of the past wash up evil debris and I wonder when I'll be able to just sit. Stay. Breathe.


amended to add:
This has been stuck in me. I held back, posted it, pulled it ... still feeling a bit irrational. But I do feel better. We went for the one week check-up today. The only thing that was remarkable about the visit is that Rio asked Dr. Chris, "Where's your Mickey Mouse shirt?". It's what he was wearing when he saw her three weeks ago .... !!! Then she told him, "Take care Dopter Chris! We'll see you soon buddyboy!".

that kid ...

prepare for the jealousy wave

prepare for the jealousy wave

It pays to have talented friends. All my friends have special talents, that way I never have to get off the couch and miss my soap operas.

Hahahahaha.

Seriously though. Follow this to Paper Canteen* to see the Thank You notes that Mere made for Rio. I could die twice, get up AGAIN and die right!**

I cried a little when I saw them.

* She takes orders. Support a SAHM, wouldya? And you should know she totally is that pretty. I think that translates to her cards! Heeheehee.
** I hung out with a boatload of drag queens in the 80s in florida. Some bits of lingo still hang out in my brain :)

honorable mention!!!!

honorable mention!!!!

There was an awesome contest and I made it to the finals! My potty-mouth finally paid off ...

Here's the whole, ugly story ...

My mom had me when she was barely 18, and my brother when she was barely 19. We all kind of grew up together but it was mostly me leading the parade. The first block of child-rearing was pretty loose and easy. She kept us out of school until the truant officer paid a visit. We were a little too smart and way too sarcastic to be at one with our peers, but it was a fun social experiment.

By the time I was wrangled into formal education, I could do math at a grade 5 level and read at a post college level. Lots of discussion about 'what to do' with me. Mom said, "First grade, assholes. You're not going to just throw her into fifth grade, you stupid motherfuckers!"

My mother gave us one amazing gift - reading. My brother and I love it to this day. We learned early and well. Mom always was very lax on reading material rules. If it was in a book, it was fair game. I remember early library fights, my mother screaming at the librarian that she'd never heard of such "mother-fucking, cock-sucking, asinine rules governing READING MATERIAL!!!!". She has always loved profanity.

First Grade

I clearly remember the first day I went to class, halfway through the year. The class was reading 'Sally, Dick, and Jane'. I thought it was a joke. It was the first time I was aware of a surreal experience. All eyes on me as I walked to the teacher's desk for my copy of the book. The formal order of reading aloud. The torturous sounding out process. The snickering at the kids who were slow. The look of disbelief when I read as clearly and quickly as the teacher... first time I recall feeling really different ...

Anyway, our desks were in a big arc. The teacher walked around - pacing really, like an over-medicated jungle animal in the zoo, eyes all vacant and subtly angry - singing her way through each day. I found the sing-song both annoying and wondrous. We were always spoken to as small adults. No babytalk. No 'lalala'.

We'd been given hand-outs to color. Find the 'dog' and color it 'blue'. Pretty easy stuff. Papers were passed along the arc; take one and pass the pile. So far I'm following these strange customs and blending in. Then the teacher walked the arc handing out bundles of crayons.

me: Pardon me, Ms. Smith. I would like sharp crayons, please.

ms. smith: Well, lalala, we use what we have, lalala!!

me: But I really prefer sharp crayons. I will take a sharpener, a butter knife, or new crayons.

ms. smith (staring to get 'the face'): Well, [consults my desk nameplate] Niiiiita, I think those crayons are fine.

me: Are you fucking kidding me? No, they're not 'fine'. [teacher gasps, mouth frozen in a tall 'O'] I turn to the kid next to me, point at her, and say All I asked for is sharp crayons, for fuck's sake. Who's running this banana stand?

On day one of first grade I learned the route to the principal's office. I would wear a tiny but defiant path in the linoleum over my years in that school.

mysteries solved

mysteries solved

My darling sister is 20 years younger than I - a point she takes great joy in pointing out as often as possible.

I was talking to her this morning. She totally cracks me up. She has a very interesting way of conducting her business. She takes most of my advice and, as near as I can figure, makes origami cranes and frogs from it. Occasional gems are put to use with astonishing success, and yet she rarely avails herself of MY TWENTY ADDITIONAL YEARS OF EXPERIENCE!!!!... well, she really does have her very own, very 'special' take on things.

me: P's totally out, huh?

v: Yeah. I don't know what his problem is. I think guys are obsessed with their penises though.

me: That's a fact. What happened?

v: Oh, well, we were kinda getting ready to fool around so I asked him if he had a condom and he pulled out a Magnum. I started laughing and asked him who he stole *that* from! Hahahaha!

me: And you don't know why things got bad, huh?

same conversation a bit later ....

v: You ever lose shoes drinking?

me: I've lost one shoe a few times. Long time ago. But I don't think I ever lost both of them. Did you lose your shoes?

v: Yeah. Both of them. And my pants. I think I gotta quit drinking.

me: *THINK* you gotta quit?!!

v: Or at least cut way down ...

same conversation a bit later ....

v: Yeah, so, [our young cousin's young wife] is having surgery next month! Did you know that?

me: No, you know no one tells me anything. What's up? Is she okay?

v: Yeah, no, well, I don't know. I guess it's her brain.

me: Brain surgery? Does she have an aneurysm, too?! ( v's mom had one, so did her grandmother, and our cousin's mom, too ... this girl married in so I was thinking that someone should do a study proving that living in the midwest is what causes them ...)

v: Could be that. No, wait, it's, uh, I don't remember the term. Something like, something with a medical name. Some sort of fluid on her brain or in her brain or on her spinal cord? Something. There's too much fluid in there. Or something is not letting enough fluid through and maybe blocking something ... whatever, maybe it's why she's quirky.

Seriously? I could not love her more!

lottery wins

lottery wins

I commit a stupid amount of brain space completely convinced that I'm going to win MegaMillions one day. Seriously, I play sporadically, I always get quick picks and one scratch-off*, and I'm about 92% positive that I shall one day have my picture taken in bad light holding a giant check.

Lots of things are wrong with me. This is but one.

Really, though, it's probably a good thing if I don't win. Due to the irrational belief that boatloads of cash are imminent, I'm always planning my list of things to buy.

Here is the latest addition to the insane shit I'd buy with lottery money.

*I win on the scratch-offs a LOT! Never big money, but pretty consistent cover-the three-bucks-I-just-threw-away money. Even that messes with the lottery portion of my brain. The guy says, 'Ooo, lucky again!' and I think 'Fuck, I hope this doesn't mean I won't win the millions'. At this point even I am starting to wonder which blow to the head or pill off the floor has so damaged my melon ....

and i'm handy, too!

and i'm handy, too!

I am not going to lie to you, good folks of Blogsylvania. I can't work many of Rio's toys. Perhaps that's why I'm fostering the current train obsession - round and round with occasional 'toot!toot!' is all that's required of me. Me likey Thomas the Train. I wasn't even too pissed about the lead paint, cuz, hell - I can play trains!

Anyway.

Our darling friend gave her this for her birthday. Rio loves it like it's covered with baby crack. Only glitch? I can NOT work it. That's a problem because it has to be worked. One must load an outfit and while Polly is driving, something starts whirring and she's magically sucked into the body of the limo where she pops out the back in a different outfit and the doors all start turning into mirrors and closets and stairways .... exhausting but I totally would buy it if it existed. And if the car could really drive itself while I was sucked into the back. And if it was a hybrid ...

But, I digress.

If one (me) is too stupid to load the outfit and get all the parts lined up and get everyone in their fricken seatbelts and, and, and, if it isn't all lined up just so - the car gets stuck. Just rolling it around singing gangsta rap isn't an option because the wheels lock up while things inside are ready to get this party started riiiiiiight. Without the requisite NASA setup operation the car pops things open randomly and the doors fall away and Polly is sucking back and forth and her friend is all looking at her like 'What are you? Paris on vicodin AND xanax????!!!!" while the passenger seat does some other weird thing, too. I know it, right? Ex.haus.ting!

Peering into the guts I realized there was a spinny thing attached to the axle which runs the whole thing.

Darling girlfriend who bestowed this awesome gift, please don't get pissed, okay? I totally McGuivered it.

Using only a large screwdriver for pounding and torquing, and a small screwdriver for the myriad of microscopic screws on the bottom of the car holding god knows what to god knows what, and poultry shears for the thicker pieces of plastic -- using just those 3 tools I totally pimped that ride. Took the bottom off, broke off /hacked off/ pounded off/ twisted off/ chicken neck snapped off most of the inside and underside of the quick change major traffic hazard limo.

Now it looks like a pimped out El Camino and we both really like it.

If only I can install a system for hydrolics and bangin' bass .....

i remember when i had time to be funny

i remember when i had time to be funny

I am shocked at the amount of things I need to do. Moving from in front of my computer is high on the list right now, but a delightful surprise affords me seven minutes with you!

My baby brother was asleep on the couch when we woke up this morning. Yes, our security is tight around here but he has all the codes so voila! baby brother surprise! He's playing squirtbottle with Rio and gathering points toward sainthood ...

The quick update:

* I got a gig doing some proofreading and copy editing in Vermont. I had the best time training. The.Best.Time. I met a new friend that loves grammar jokes as much as I :) And we bemoaned the coming colloquial extinction of 'whomever'. Evidently the generation that can NOT differentiate between 'your' and 'you're' finds 'whomever' too stuffy. My new friend and I are upSET! *sigh* I heart him so much!

* Bear is working on my patent. I told him he better hurry before someone else steals my brilliant idea. He informed me there's such a thing as 'inventor's paranoia'. Oh goody, because I was just thinking I needed one more irrational fear ....

* Styro, may her blog RIP, turned me on to Etsy. Now I spend way too much time looking at pretty, shiny things. I may be more closely related to our ape ancestors than most ...

* While I was out yesterday, Rio took a nap for our sitter. With no issues. No complaints. No neck grabbing and gut wrenching protestation of neeeeeeds. It made me want to pinch her. Rio, not the sitter. That pinch sentence had subject issues. :I'M ON GRAMMAR FIRE!

* Bear gave me his birthday BN gift card to pick up a book for him. I'm going to pick up a book for me, too, after I touch a bunch and randomly pick one. I'm very excited about this.

* I need to mail:
~ will and nina's presents
~ pictures to eleventy people
~ special matte nail nourishment polish to my uncle
~ thank you notes I haven't written

* I took a zumba class and loved it. You should totally try it. I'm ordering the tapes* so I can do it when I'm home, too. That, my friends, is aerobic love. LOVE!

It bears noting that this post was brought to you without paid endorsements. It only seems like I might be getting paid because, lately, I'm link-crazed.

* lesigh. Well, you know I don't edit here. Pure freestyle, stream of unconsciousness, head over-load goodness here. I do, on occasion, preview to make sure egregious typos are caught. I realized I said 'tapes'. No wonder the new guard is happily pushing their grammar change agenda - it turns out I'm one 242 years old in tech-years! Uuuuuuuugh!

all the news that's fit to wrap greasy fish

all the news that's fit to wrap greasy fish

I'm catching up on news reading since our Vermont break. Only tiny bits of the outside world squeak through when I'm there, which is mostly why I go. Here's what I learned:

Al Gore III
* there are a ton of asshats who don't own a style manual. it's fun to watch them try to use 'Gore III' correctly in the body of an article.
* I had no idea a Prius could go 100 mph. now I REALLY want one!
* this kid is only 24? not a typo? he's not 42? I'm 42 and look way better .... waaaay better.

A Girl Who Could Really Use A Cork In Her Mouth or A Competent Editor
* Brittney - please shut the fuck up!

I'd Like To Know What They Have Planned For Their Print Campaign
* but, hey, tell a friend!

Bad Week For Pedicurists
* um, ouch! and ouch!

I'm Not Going Crazy, I KNEW I'd Heard That Song!
* naughty avril! your fans have parents, you know!

Why Background Checks On Babysitters Are Totally Sensible
* what lovely children, and she is so advanced for her age!

The Most Disgusting Piece of News I've Read Since Paris Getting Out Of Jail Because She Was Claustrophic ... And On A Complete Mental Par ...

By The Associated Press Tue Jul 3, 3:08 AM ET

The text of the clemency order Monday by which President Bush commuted the sentence of I. Lewis "Scooter" Libby, as released by the White House:

Grant of Executive Clemency

A Proclamation

NOW, THEREFORE, I, GEORGE W. BUSH, President of the United States of America, pursuant to my powers under Article II, Section 2, of the Constitution, do hereby commute the prison terms imposed by the sentence upon the said Lewis Libby to expire immediately, leaving intact and in effect the two-year term of supervised release, with all its conditions, and all other components of the sentence.

GEORGE W. BUSH

* anyone care to bet how long it takes him to complete reverse himself on 'leaving intact and in effect'? smart money says he commutes the entire sentence and when asked why, says,

"Cuz I funna felt like it. If y'all could get a look at my super secret Rules For Guvrnin Handball, Handbible, Handbook! then y'all'd know I wunna dunna anyone elses."

I"m going to play with trains now.

turns out - i DONT want you to want me

turns out - i DONT want you to want me

She's got a new thing she's doing. After I settle her in and tell her a 'once upon a time there was a girl named Rio' story, she breaks my heart to thank me for the excellent mothering. She slides those fingers -- fingers that are losing the pudge of babyhood; fingers I can imagine full grown on a piano or standing bass; fingers have the superhuman ability to penetrate my flesh -- into my hair and pulls my face closer still to hers and says:

"I want you Mommy. I'm holding you so you don't leave me."

Kill me now.

***

I have a 3 pronged attack plan for parenting:

*read a shit ton. consume books like I need more fiber. disregard anything that feels 'wrong' and gather enough tomes surrounding what feels 'right' to start a library. a college library. a med school college library ...

* take everything my parents said or did and never, ever do anything that way

* trust my instincts

So, I hold her fingers and count them and kiss them. I kiss her tears and tell her I'm sad to leave her, too, but we all need rest. I tell her I love her and I'll check on her in 10 minutes and leave a room where *my baby* has just said, " I want you, Mommy,".

I know it's the right thing to do. I joke a tiny bit, telling her 'I want you tooooo!' but not enough to invalidate her sadness. I gently pull away with the promise of a check-up return. I tell her I love her and try to convey that I support her emotions. I'm pretty sure this is *just* how to handle this.

So, why is it that when walking down the hall I keep stepping on my heart; bloody and fresh from the kill?

head spins

head spins

My life can be a bit confusing being married to a mad scientist. This whole week Bear has been putting out fires and solving technical issues and developing process upgrades and all the other things he says he's doing when he's playing catch with the boy in his other family ... but he's been in and out to the lab at all hours of the day and night.

Really though. He had a terrible week. Month, actually. So he's having to work through the weekend and his 2 days off before the fourth. In an unprecedented show of support -- I'm going to Vermont with Rio for a week. Okay, that's not supportive but I *was* going to leave her here and now I'm not. But! I am doing some work while I'm up there so I have to find a sitter for her on Monday and Tuesday. Shouldn't be tough; loads of people would like to teach her bad words without me hanging around ... but my head is spinning and so is Bear's cuz it's just so darned hectic around here. I feel like our lives are supercharged and moving a little too fast. When I get back I'm going to make some changes. I don't know what they are yet, but they are coming. So, consider yourself warned.

***

In other news, I clearly don't know when to leave well enough alone. You may or may not remember, but my darling Rio did a LOT of sign language before she bothered speaking. It was getting a little, um, well, weird. And for a while there I thought she might not talk at all. Ever. Then one day she just started talking - clear as a bell - and now I wonder how I could be so silly. All the time. But that's another subject ....

At the library. There is a new train table set up there. Rio about croaks when she sees it. She picks out 3 books in 3 seconds and then only wants to play with the train. Enter 2 little girls. A bit older. And none too interested in playing with a little kid.

rio: waves Hi Girl!

girl: keeps playing and tries to ignore Rio's waving

rio: I like your hair, Girl! I actually snort a little because it is a disaster! clearly all the marks of yesterday's pig tails have it all crazy and lumpy and her bangs were straight up from sleep

girl: looks at Rio, looks back at trains.

I ask the girl her name, introduce the children and sit back to let them play.

rio: gets close to the girl, closer still, bends over and peers into her face and states, as loud and clear as can be - Mommy! Look at her nose! Is she sick? She has LOTS of boogies!'

What's a mom to do?

where one song rocks my world; for generations

where one song rocks my world; for generations

Seriously? I've read all about infant brain development and I'm very aware of the evils and general misogyny of Disney and I'm ridiculously conscious of my language so I'm not adding to the barrage of gender bias in Rio's world ... I try soooo hard to be careful about what she watches and listens to even though if I ever saw an actual Big Red Dog I might try to hit it just a little bit AND I can't get 'Ten In The Bed' out of my head ... but every once in a while I think I should just throw in the towel. I should let her watch 'Dawson's Creek' and 'Sex and The City'. I should let her eat neon colored foods and drink high fructose corn syrup straight from the bottle. I should only have her bathe when *she* feels like it and I shouldn't bother with all the french baby stuff.

Why the change of heart? I'll tell you. Despite the fact that I maintain a Miss Porter's School For Girls training manual regiment, I obviously can't pull this off. Somewhere, I must have a leak. A pinhole where my natural badass, not a good role model, who gave that woman a KID-edness is shwoooshing out, into our immediate atmosphere.

Today, with Uncle Marky AND Daddy AND Jack riding along, her clear as a bell little voice piped up from the backseat and asked, "Can we hear 'Whoop That Trick'?".

I'll be in my room.

happy birthday bear!

happy birthday bear!

Ode to Bear in Haiku

you are the best man
every day of the year
but this is your day

i will let you sleep
and sleep and sleep and sleep more
okay, until ten!

we will have some fun
because you bring us big joy
big joy, all the time

i love you my sweet
when you drive me to drink
you go get the wine

i may joke and poke
but *i* know that *you* know this:
you are my lobster

happy birthday bear
this year will be the best yet
i love you madly

hysteria, part duh

hysteria, part duh

I shared my waking hours yesterday but, almost unbelievably, it got even better!

I leave for my lesson across town at 20 minutes until the hour. When I do so I don't have to speed, sweat the red lights, or run into the studio and jump on the piano. I usually enjoy the scenic ride over and arrive at my lesson mentally prepared to prostrate myself on the alter of adult piano lessons.

*ticktockticktock* You know where this is going, yes? The Little Gym ended at 10. I gave him 2 errands. Grocery store and drive-through dry cleaning.

At Whole Foods Market, instead of getting the 5 items on the list (arrange by aisle, right to left) he wandered about and picked up all the things *he* thought would be great to have. So when he was on 495 on the way home with 8 bags of groceries, he thought to himself, "Hmm, should I take exit 17 and go home or exit 16 and go to the post office (I had not asked for a post office run and he's too paranoid to trust the mailman to pick up mail so he always has to go himself. He doesn't even really trust me to put the mail in the box. It's truly bizarre, his postal affliction)?" when he glances at my piano lesson book and suddenly remembers me and then looks at the clock in the car that says 10:45 .

Five minutes after I would have left for my lesson. And he's a little over 10 minutes from the house. He panics and reaches for his cell phone and remembers that he lost it somewhere, not sure where or when ... so he comes straight home.

I realized he had been helpful and put my lesson book in the car but he'd forgotten me and forgotten to bring my cell and I had no way to know where he was or when he'd be home or if he'd be home at all! Now - my brother's 'new' car (which I can only assume came from a lost bet) has been in our driveway for almost 3 months. He's waiting for the kid to send him the title or some paperwork so we can register the damned thing. It has an illegal plate on it from taking it down the street for tires.

:)

I made the executive decision to take the POS to my lesson and only be 5 minutes late instead of gambling on Bear's timely arrival. Or even his eventual arrival. So, I drove an unregistered car in which none of the spinny dials work including the tach and speedometer so I didn't know how fast I was going or if I was in first or third gear. I couldn't really remember the gears on a VW so I made a couple false starts trying to back up. Then I entered busy traffic in what in retrospect was clearly 3rd gear so I drove in 2nd and 3rd gear across town in a car that I can't seem to turn off the deafening loud stereo playing Talking Heads. Additionally, this bad boy has racing pedals so every time I clutch or brake or apply gas, my flipflops catch on the pedals on either side ...

***

11:10 my cell rings. It's Bear calling from home to ask where I am. ??? I tell him I'm at my lesson. He asks if I'm mad and I assure him I take full responsibility for marrying someone with the inability to multi-task OR read a list OR be on time and he says, 'Whew!'. Twenty minutes later I hear 'Where is Nita?' and it's my daughter at the door of the lesson studio, calling me 'Nita' when we've discussed that I really prefer 'Mommy', because Bear has brought her over and he wants to jam. During my lesson.

Evidently, if I want a relaxing hobby that I can do alone, I'm going to have to take up fire eating in the backyard -- dangerous to get too close, not a sport for multiple players, and I won't have to drive anywhere ...

hysteria

hysteria

Bear, in a moment of unprecedented morning parenting responsibility, offered to take Rio to her Saturday morning gym class for the summer session. So I could relax on Saturday mornings. Or at least do my housework without simultaneously playing with clay or paints or trying to bake with her helping or trying to vacuum while she throws things in my path ... you get the message, yes?!

So, today is Day One of Daddy getting up and getting her somewhere for 9:15. And he must leave by 8:55 to be on time ....Here is my morning thus far:

8:00 - wake Bear. go into Rio's room for a snuggle and discussion about 'Where are all my guys?'
8:15 - wake Bear. downstairs to make coffee and Rio's breakfast
8:20 - holler up stairs to wake Bear and bow to the suggestion of 'let's pee naked!'
8:25 - pack Rio's bag with snacks and extra clothes just in case. bring coffee upstairs
8:30 - wake Bear and inform him has to leave in 25 minuuuuuuuuuutessssssssssss
8:31 - write grocery list for Bear and put it with a note to pick up dry cleaning
8:33 - "you up?!" and he yells back "of course!"
8:35 - throw dice with Rio. make her sign over her college fund when she loses 5 straight throws
8:40 - Bear is up! And dressed! With shoes! And he asks me to figure out the mail order situation for his pills. explains that the doc wrote 3 X 90 when he needs 3 X 30 but the system wouldn't take it so now it says refills only in February but that should be for at least 9 months. I completely ignore this explanation and make a note 'drugs'.
8:45 - no slowing down on the explanation so I slip out to load the car and turn it on
8:50 - interrupt his ongoing explanation containing many mentions of 30, 60, 90 and February to give him grocery list, dry cleaning slip and coffee to go
8:51 - he complains that I'm throwing so many things at him when he just woke up! I explain he should have gotten up at 8 and he says 'Yeah, but I didn't so I'm not awake so stop giving me pieces of paper with all these commands cuz I'm not awake yet!!!' and I say, again, 'That's not my problem!' and he says 'I don't know what you're saying cuz I'm not awake yet!' and Rio looks at us like we're idiots
8:55 - I put Rio in the carseat while Bear goes up to brush his teeth. He's back faster than if he'd flossed and I hand him his to-go coffee and we kiss and they're off.

Phew! So, I have some time to have a cup of coffee, listen to the radio, do some chores and practice before my piano lesson. (Although clearly the practicing is gratuitous as I'm apparently some sort of adult savant ... or highly delusional. One of those things ...).

I sit down at the piano only to remember that Captain Helpful has taken my lesson book and put it in the car he just drove to the Little Gym. So I'll have it when I go to my lesson. In 3 hours.

Is it too early for cocktails?!

where i learn more about the odd customs of my new land

where i learn more about the odd customs of my new land

Did you know that no one gives gifts for the end of the class teacher present? Nope. Only me and Rio. On cards custom made by Mere at PaperCanteen. You should totally get your own so, you know, when you're making an ass out of yourself giving a teacher what looks like payola, well, your cards can be nice.

I swear I heard one of the ubersuburban moms say, "So *that's* how she got bumped to Giggle Bugs ..."

I made earrings and we gave a Dunkin' Donut gift card. Anyone that hyped up and psyched and downright mofo enthusiastic every morning *must* have a lot of coffee. I tried to get a Crack Card but no one had the right permits to sell around here ...

where i tip my hand regarding love of gangsta rap

where i tip my hand regarding love of gangsta rap

** Bear and I sitting in the living room, watching television. 'Urinary Incontinence' commercial comes on. I have panic attack thinking about being forced to try all those meds even though my problem was surgically induced and I was unable to pee which is a whole different problem. And I experienced the entirety of the the panel of side effects. For each drug ... anyway, this snippet of a life waylaid follows:

me: Ugh. These commercials still give me a pit in my stomach.


bear: How come?

me: Duh. That year I couldn't pee? Remember I had to take all those drugs?


bear: Oh, yeah. Well, it's good that it's pretty much cleared up now, huh?

me: Yeah right. That shit is still all wack.

bear: ... *smirks*


me: What?


bear: We really need to move closer to an urban area so you can say 'that shit is still wack' and have an actual audience.

I think Frasier is making him snarky.

where i make a clarification

where i make a clarification

Dear M & M:

When I said, "I know you're going to be busy and I know it's a lot, so don't worry about calling me," well, I didn't mean it at all. Call me. Now, please.

where i practice for weeks to be drown out by crying

where i practice for weeks to be drown out by crying

I've always wanted to learn how to play the piano. I bought one at a yardsale, oh, maybe 5 years ago. Got a great deal. Even had it tuned. A few times. Evidently if you don't play it can still lose its tune ...

Speaking of losing a tune, here is my first recital. My teacher rocks the planet and makes me want to play. Not that you can tell from the video ...

Oh, and when I look directly at the camera (it's hard to tell because Bear is shaking the thing so hard AND laughing AND trying to get Rio to yell 'Rock and roll!'), well, when I look directly at the camera it is to try to make my child laugh by sticking out my tongue.

In front of everyone.

I need a nap.




*I think it bears adding that while I have been eating compulsively for the past 2 weeks or so, I do not weigh 300 pounds like it seems in this video! I'm sitting on my leg for height, I have a diaphanous over piece, I ate all the black and white cookies because how often do black and whites make an appearance in Massachusetts suburban hell....??!!

mememememeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

mememememeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

I got tagged by feener and I'm playing along nicely :)

** What were you doing 10 years ago ?
1997. Hmm. I believe that's the year I sold my salon. So that would also make it the year I moved to the Virgin Islands because my friend told me she had jobs and a house lined up for us but when we got there neither materialized so we just moved into a hotel and stayed until my money ran out. Great investment. I mean that!

** What were you doing 1 year ago ?
One year ago I was traveling the globe trying to find someone to help me pee again after my botched surgery. And I was crabby and in poor health and overly medicated with stuff that didn't work at all.

** Five Snacks you enjoy:
cheese
cherries
grilled pb&j
blue corn chips
ginger altoids

** Five songs to which I know all the lyrics:
i know the songs to virtually every top 40 song from the entirety of the 80s. i'm not proud, just sayin'...

** Five things I would do if I was a millionaire:
1. i would get my series 7 and
2. start my own ecologically responsible portfolio and
3. give 10k to 5 friends anonymously and
4. invest in my own business idea (details coming) and
5. take the profits from number 2 (haha) and buy an island. i want an island. you can totally come visit but i want to have, ready for this, la isla nita. no lie. i'm insane. but it'll have cool tiki huts and solar powered blenders.

** Five Bad Habits:
1. not following directions so the next 4 are bad habits i WISH i had
2. letting things slide and never thinking about them again
3. shooting up
4. scratching my balls in public
5. sleeping way too much

** Five things you like doing:
1. bear
2. teaching rio snarky sayings
3. reading for hours on end
4. hanging out with my grrls
5. cooking!

** Five things you would never wear again:
(okay, some pictures to follow)
1. a perm. ever. no matter what
2. my vinyl fetish dress
3. one giant earring in one ear and five studs in the other ear
4. layered polo shirts that match the color of my slacks and the embroidered whale/flamingo/nantucket basket/outline of cape cod ... kill me if those pictures surface
5. i'm taking a stand against this go round of crocs and if they come back again in 20 years

** Five Favorite toys:
1. bear
2. rio
3. online scrabble and jeopardy!
4. my professional steamer ( i am too much even for me)
5. my jewelry stuff

So, leave a comment if you want to fill this out and tell us about you!

where i try to explain how stupid one man can be

where i try to explain how stupid one man can be

*Also, I've decided to start naming my posts with the 'major push of the piece'. I'm practicing my elevator pitch. You know, in case some famous literary person happens upon my blog and decides to print it verbatim because I hate editing and I refuse to rewrite and I don't care if I make sense to a random person trying to exploit my suffering for their amusement and the run on and incomplete sentences bother me not so much. So, the posts will be named for clarity and so you don't by mistake read about the miracle of NOT having hemorrhoids or when I talk about how weird it is that I get bumps on my fingers for no reason. Yeah, so you don't have to read something you're not interested in. So, yeah, again, for clarity's sake.

I was rushing about trying to get to Vermont on time to see my darlingest ever goddaughter graduate from 8th grade. I got her a little Coach clutch because she's getting too big to be my little clutch and I always want to feel like I'm close to her.

So, I'm running around and Bear offers to help with my 'to-do' list so I can just get going. Here is our conversation:

me: B, can you go to the bank and deposit this check and put cash in for the Little Gym?

bear: How about if I just go to the Little Gym and sign her up directly. That way you won't have to worry about it.

me: That would be great. Thanks so much! Remember what we talked about? She's ready for the next level but if you want to go with her on Saturday mornings, then she should stay in the parent/child class. It's not like she's overly prepared for the transition but either way... So, if you want to take on getting her to class and having time with her on Saturday mornings that's fine. Otherwise, sign her up for the next level either Tuesdays or Fridays. And the cutoff for the prepay discount is Friday. K?

bear: Oh yeah, I gotcha.

cut to Thursday evening's check-in phone call ...

me: So, did you sign her up?

bear: Yeah, I did, but the kid thinks it might be confusing for her.

me: What kid?

bear: Mr. Timmy. He helped me figure out which classes. And I thought you said it was going to be $XXX but it's not.

me: Classes?

bear: Yeah. I was going to sign her up for Saturdays with me and Tuesdays with you but Mr. Timmy said that might be confusing but then again, it might *not* be confusing and probably whatever you had suggested was the right thing to do. But I wasn't sure why it would be a different price so we both decided not to sign her up for two classes. With the confusion, you know ... about parent / no parent ...

me: I suggested either OR. The problem is that you don't listen to me.

bear: Hey, I do too listen to you. And I'm just trying to help.

me: How is it helpful if you've been all the way to Little Gym, haven't signed her up for anything, and the prepay discount ends tomorrow - before I can get back? Did you put the cash in my account so I can just call them and do it myself?

bear: Of course not. You said to pay the Little Gym.

...

The crux of the matter is that he doesn't listen to me. He watches me talk, nods where he thinks he should, and continues to think about why cars don't fly and how come cilantro tastes bad and whatever else his head is doing while he's letting my words wash over him like a meandering stream. So, technically, because my words have entered his ears at a time when we were both in the room, he will not admit he wasn't listening.

Seriously though? I asked what kind of sense did it make to sign up a kid for an 'up and down' like that? 'Up and down?' he says. 'Yah,' I tell him, 'like a sports contract. Up and down? Majors and minors?!'.

So, again he's listening but not getting a take-away.

Unless I can learn to think only as an ADD brilliant scientist who abhors organized sports and common sense, we're doomed to these arguments ...

i don't mean to brag, i don't mean to boast ...

i don't mean to brag, i don't mean to boast ...

Rio has a baby monster voice she uses. She's been known to speak in it until her voicebox is in obvious distress, which makes her laugh.

She's next to me right now, throwing mad monster voice, and she's saying, "Rock and roll! Freebirrrrrrd!"

giggle bugs! fuck yah!

giggle bugs! fuck yah!

My daughter runs and bounces around the outside rim of the Little Gym while the other kids, known as Super Beasts, pay attention and sing and do tricks as they are asked to.

My daughter has recently decided that these little people and their silly games might be fun. To that end she's joined in of late. Once in a while. If she feels like it.

Due to the fact that Rio *is* more interested and *is* participating and *is* happy there, Bear and I made the executive decision to piss more money against a wall while Rio does what she could do at home, alone, on things we already own. We planned to re-up for baby bootcamp.

The teacher sought me out to discuss the summer program and to compliment Rio on her accomplishments. My child was running in circles shaking her head and going, "Niiiiice spiiiiinnnniiinnnngggg Buddddyyyyy Boooyyyyyy!' at the time ... but Miss D recommended that Rio go up to the next level. I was super still in case she had me mistaken for someone else's mom and thanked her just this side of profusely.

When the next class starts Rio will be a Giggle Bug.

What does this mean? It means she goes into class alone and I sit at an observation window outside. It means I have 45 minutes to read a book. Or write notes. Or drink a cup of coffee without being asked 112 times if she can have a sip. Or knit if I knew how to knit. Or just sit there on my ass doing not one single thing.

So, yeah. It really is the little things exciting me lately ... do you think there's any possibility I could run out and get a life in those 45 minutes?!

where my inaction haunts me for days, weeks, months

where my inaction haunts me for days, weeks, months

I put Rio down for her nap and headed out to Barnes and Noble. My best friend told me I had to read this and I needed another copy of this so off I went.

On the way there, not even a mile out of our driveway/entrance into the Indy 500, I had to swerve to avoid a turtle in the road. 'Oo,' I thought, 'I should pull over and help that turtle cross' and then the internal 'S/he'll get across. People will see her/him and drive around. I wonder if it's a girl turtle or a boy turtle. I remember when I had 2 turtles and we left them on a radiator and then I had dessicated turtles ...' and 14 sides of my brain had an argument over the sex of the turtle and should I turn around or not turn around.

I turned around.

Too late.

I turned back around to go to the bookstore. Thing is - the whole rest of the day, including right this minute, has been spent thinking about that turtle. How s/he made it over the line before being pulverized beyond recognition. How it's little body looked, splayed, organs identifiable, shell cracked, strewn. And I have felt sad since.

I think the Universe is telling me something. Something I already know. I'm not a nutcase wandering around looking for big signs, but I got one today. I need to listen better to what I feel is right. Only then can I accept the consequences of action or inaction with any piece of mind. Helping someone or something is always the right thing to do and I've always done so. I've corralled loose dogs, stopped for kids in a roadside fight, had my car kicked by a pissed off asshole yelling at his girlfriend when I offered her a ride, bought meals for folks without homes ... it is my complete way of being to never look the other way. So I feel terrible about this turtle.

What the fuck is the matter with me?

I think I'm feeling a little off my center. I'm desperately grabbing at spare seconds to do things I want to do: make jewelry, blog, organize my desk, read, sleep ... and I've been feeling like my life is some sort of bizarre game show where I wake up and the clock starts and I start running full speed ahead into an arena to do battle with the Predator (that movie scared the shit out of me so hardcore that I am sans shit to this day!) and I am armed with a sponge and some non-toxic cleanser and a list of other things that really really need to get done if I manage to get out alive!!!

And sometimes in that rush, sometimes I move away from the person I have always been. I'm better about efficiently getting to the bookstore - list in hand because I won't have hours to sit on the floor simply looking ... better at time management and understanding infant development and not going insane whilst cleaning the babe's potty 27 times a day and saying 'Good job! One tinkle treat for you!' and not getting pissed off that every time I buy a boatload of a certain tinkle treat she will decide she no longer eats those and making sure the dog has his special tooth squirt after dinner and making cookies for Bear to take to work and changing sheets and sorting recycling and and and ... better at the Sisyphian job that is SAHM-hood but worse about things like moving turtles out of the road.

um, no.

um, no.

In an effort to get myself out of the training trenches as quickly as possible, I am bribing my child to tinkle on the potty. With sugar. Over the counter, can buy it at a gas station, probably stocked in vending machines sugar. Hard core.

Yesterday she asked for a monkey ride. Under no circumstances do we call mommy a 'piggy' anything, so riding on my back is a monkey ride.

rio: Mommy, I want up! Monkey rides, puhwease! And you say 'whoo hoo hoo'!

me: hikes her up Whoo hoo hoo! Whoo hoo ... feels warmth on her back ... did you just tinkle?

rio: Yes! Yes I did tinkle!

me: On mommy?

rio: Yes! I tinkled on mommy! Now, I need a tinkle treat!

Somehow, somewhere, I'm screwing things up badly and I have no idea what to do but laugh.

internet dandelion puffs

internet dandelion puffs

I met my father when I was 30. Following their tumultuous childhood marriage, my mother moved us across the country and changed our names, making it difficult to maintain a relationship. That is me being snarky to cover something. It's been interesting. He's affable and charming and highly inconsistent. I suspect he would have been the kind of father who sees you once a year, maybe at the promised time and maybe not, and he would bring a pony. Yeah, I think that would have been his gig. He's right there for my little sister (half sister, his 2nd marriage, they grew up together in more ways than one) and I am thankful for that. She needs him. Me? Well, I'm still me.

His phone number changes in 3 month cycles and I'm never quite certain exactly where he's living. I know he helped my aunt fix up her 2 unit building and sell it. During that time I had an address. A place to send Christmas cards, pictures of his granddaughter ... So now, well, I haven't the foggiest where he lives.

When we were in Florida recently, he was in Florida. Lots of conversations about coming over, coming down, coming around. Wanted to see Rio.

We ended up not seeing him.

Today is his birthday. I'm uncertain as to exactly how old he is. Sometimes, okay, often our complete lack of connection saddens me. I have a pretty poor relationship with my mother. I have no relationship with my father. While I adore my mother's most recent ex-husband I suspect I work much harder at that relationship than he does. Lately it has occurred to me that I might sort of be an orphan. An orphan who is mostly responsible for the day to day raising of a child.

Whew.

So, happy birthday Father! I hope someone sings to you! I hope someone knows your favorite cake and makes you that cake and put the appropriate amount of candles on top! I hope someone tells you that you look great! I hope someone tells you to have a fantastic year! I hope someone makes you feel loved.

i'm just sayin' ...

i'm just sayin' ...

In the near future I will sit down and do a stream of consciousness to help myself tease out all that went with Rio being gone for 2 days, 3 nights ... I use this blog like it uses me. Bear had some brilliance that is still being worked like a grain of sand and I'm hoping for a pearl.

In the meanwhile ...

Tonight my darling unpacked her game bag from being at Mama Bear's house. She unloaded the pieces of this game, arranged them according to size and color - as she is wont to do - and then she took the dice, blew on them and yelled "SNAKE EYES!" when they came to a stop.

I am going to have to check her bag for chips ...

fixed

fixed

Not sure when it happened and as of last night it was still wrong, but less than 24 hours after hearing from that one person on the ball* at Entrepreneur, Ebay's unbelievably horrifying typo has been fixed. Finally, I can stop compulsively checking it ....

*if you think about it, there really is only room for one person to be 'on the ball' at one time, right? my head hurts ....

thank that masked mom, whoever she is

thank that masked mom, whoever she is

I think I just butchered that, but I wasn't around when the Lone Ranger was on the moving picture box :)

Thanks so much to Masked Mom for giving me her coveted perfect post for the month of May for my Mother's Day experience. She is spot on with her observations, too. Being open, truly open, is terrifying. I think that speaks ill of formative experiences and I do struggle to let my husband utilize the All Access pass I carelessly handed him one Ground Hog's day ....

Anyway ... had I realized some of you are reading and thinking about what I've read, well, I would edit. Or make drafts. I don't. I simply spill it here - raw and uncensored. So I'm doubly appreciative and thankful for you. Yes, you.

:)

entrepreneur magazine has one working person!

entrepreneur magazine has one working person!

Again, I sent a barrage of messages to Entrepreneur magazine. At 11:38 I got a response from one of this morning's emails! Now I'll track for you how long it takes Ebay to fix their error. This should be fascinating!

Well, fascinating for me, anyway. Hero of Horrid HTML, Tattler of Typos, Goddess of Grammar!

messy mom wreck

messy mom wreck

I was excited like you read about for a couple of days sans child. Many plans, many projects on the list, many hours of sleeping in my future ...

You totally knew I was going to cry the whole way home from dropping her off, didn't you? THANKS FOR THE HEADS UP!

bringing it // keeping it real // etc.

bringing it // keeping it real // etc.

Today, I raise the bar.

I've been taking piano lessons. Link to follow. The guy is awesome. From my first lesson I've had fun and been inspired to prac.tice. Often. Butchering with regularity some of the great works of music. Happily.

Yesterday I was playing with my instructor's wife and awesome kids. Blahblahblah music, blahblahblah love rap, and viola! on the swing I busted out with a select few.

Nothing can be funnier than a 42 year old suburban stay at home mom swinging on a swing and rapping, yes? Let's hope so cuz today I'm busting it out, old skool, and rapping at my music lesson. Who knows? Maybe it'll make YouTube?!