LaughLoveWrite

HOLY CRAP where have I been?

2011-01-31T10:55:00.007-05:00

My last blog was Dec 6Th??????

I'm fed up with snow up to my arse and this winter wonderland shtick! I haven't been to the gym in about three weeks and all I want to do is eat cheese and escape into my wine (whine) glass.

I'm wound up this morning and I'll say what I need to say while I can, Gibson is upstairs watching cartoons so I'll type quickly....

WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING TO OUR KIDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Beauty pageants, baby pageants, toddler pageants all creep me out! There's a show called Toddlers and Tiaras, an exploration into the world of baby pageants. Have you seen the video gone viral of the "mom" having her 5 year old's eyebrow waxed? Yeah, that's a hoot! The poor little girl has had it done several times. She screams as the wax is pulled off her forehead. Her "incubator" says she usually just holds her down and pulls it off herself....Mommy Of The Year Award.

How about the mom who punished her 6 year old for lying, by casually reaching into the medicine cabinet and pouring hot sauce into her son's mouth. She does this on a regular basis because when asked what happens when he fibs he says " I get the hot sauce." The video then shows his second installment of corrective behavior adjustment, a cold shower. The mother was a guest on Dr. Phil. If media outlets are true she is to be charged with child abuse. Both of these videos are online and I am purposefully not posting them here.

Remember Mary Kay Laterno? She's the teacher who had sex with her then 12 year old student. She spent time in jail, has two girls by him, now teenagers themselves. Mary Kay and Villi are married and her son by her first marriage has made her a first time grandmother. Of course this was a "news" story covered by TODAYshow's Meredith Vieria. What a struggle that was to watch! It seems Mary Kay is whacked out on some sort of serotonin uptake and still doesn't seem to comprehend the criminal, predatory nature she exhibited so long ago. Her husband Villi seems somewhat more lucid and the segment portrays them as one big happy family. Maybe they are, only she knows how and if she's made her family, and extended family whole.

I knew someone casually in college, a friend of a friend. He was busted several years back for accessing child porn. Don't remember if he was downloading or distributing. Whatever the details are, he is serving time in prison. My husband and I debate his sentence. He thinks it's ridiculous to be jailed for pornography. He argues the guy never did anything, never touched a child. My argument; how do we know he never touched a child? I too, don't know if he did. Does viewing kiddie porn lead to physically acting out? I don't know enough about the psychology behind it, I don't have any data. I just know that children are vulnerable and child porn is so much more sinister than adult pornography.

I'm by no means the best mom. I have a pretty low tolerance for patience. I tend to get a bit loud and irritated at my two kids. I huff and puff when they make a mess in the kitchen. I want to pull my hair out when they get into one of their famous hitting battles like two Rockem Sockem Robots. Hell, I almost throw a hissy fit when my kids call out "Mommy" just as I finally sit down with a juicy cook book in my hands.

I think the best thing to come out of some of these headlines is simply to remind me that these little people are simply kids. They're not little dolls for us to primp and put on display. They are not some sort of animal that will learn behavior by fear. They are an extension of us and want the same as we do, simply love, respect, attention and comfort.

I'm about out of time. Lola is screaming for me to come upstairs. Gibson just emptied a bottle of Crest Pro Health Mouthwash on his bedroom carpet. This kid has great timing! I'm gritting my teeth! I love my kids, I love my kids, I love my........

Yes Lola, there is a "Santa."

2010-12-06T09:20:00.007-05:00

I knew sooner or later the question would surface. She is five and profoundly curious, I just was not ready for it... "Mom, some of the kids are saying there's no Santa. He's made up like the Tooth Fairy and parents buy the gifts." She wasn't looking at me as she wondered, she continued her scribbles at the dining room table.

Oh crap! Think fast! It is a dilemma. Are we dishonest to tell our children these myths? Are we harming them, creating false hopes? We know the time is so fleeting, they are so little for only so long. The days of footie pajamas and story times and selfless snuggling will end, replaced by self consciousness and peer pressures and children who are growing up.

"Well, what do you think?" I thought it best to ask her, before I added my two cents, hoping for a bit more time to think. "I'd like to think he's real" she said. "Me too, he's real like the feeling you get when it snows for the first time, real the way cookies smell baking, real in the way you hug someone and it makes them happy and it makes you feel happy."

I'm glad she's made her own choice to believe a little while longer. I still believe, don't you?

I See Colors.

2010-10-22T09:14:00.002-04:00

I had just read a story to Lola. We're trying to have her in bed by 8-ish lately. She seems to be more agreeable in the morning. Rocket science for parents!

We usually then have this great in depth conversation, our best at her bedtime. It's her way of stalling the inevitable. "Mom, I hate Cameron, he pulls my hair and pokes me on the bus." I asked who Cameron was and told her boys can be a bit silly like that. I told her to give him the most maniacal look she could muster and then tell him to stop or she would eat him for breakfast. She laughed. "Let's not use the word *hate* OK? That's a really strong word to use."

"When I say the word HATE I see the color BLACK. When I hear or say the word SHIT, I see the color RED." Her family rule for Sean and me, is to not have us use the word shit around her. She rules with an iron fist that kid! "Lola, that's what I mean, those are really strong words and your mind and your body are reacting to them by seeing colors in your mind!"

She excitedly propped up on one elbow, the bathroom light across the hall nudging into our private conversation, she squinted, "Mom! You get me, you really get me!!!!"

2010-10-21T18:27:00.001-04:00

It's been a while, but I'm back.

Lola's rules for driving.

1. Never wear an eyepatch while driving.

2. Never wear a blindfold while driving to your cousins.

3. Never, and I mean NEVER eat while driving, especially a burrito!

Walmarted Again :(

2010-09-03T12:44:00.005-04:00

Little old Greenfield is fighting the Big Box war! A Connecticut developer is (hoping/praying/scheming/plotting/eating our young) planning to build a 135,000 square foot discount store along the French King Highway. Oh the horrors and gnashing and wailing that resound throughout our Pioneer Valley!

Greenfield is a bucolic little town full of charm and hippies, street kids, whole grain families of all shapes, sizes and orientations. There are organic awesome groceries stores rubbing economic elbows with larger, stockholder-ish grocery stores. There are old buildings seeing new interested owners reviving downtown. There are used bookstores, coffee shops, art spaces, adventurous dining (a BBQ joint is opening in the spot now vacant because the Thai restaurant found a larger spot.)

There are families. Gay, straight, off the grid, on the grid, solar panels, family beds, breastfeeding, organic farming, organic thinking....Got Hope? End This War! Love Makes A Family! Farmer's Markets downtown now accepting Food Stamps (now renamed something else?)

You have Mercedes Station Wagons parked next to Smart Cars, parked next to 20 year old Subarus, parked next to Hybrids, parked next to recumbent bikes, parked next to Volvos, parked next to vintage beater cars with a few Mini Coppers to add spice.

You've got students, business owners, bankers, bakers, moms off to the yoga class. You've got your professionals in their ubiquitous white dress shirts jaywalking to their next triumph. You've got the middle class (tightly in the middle...) You've got the Super Comfortable, you've got the struggling who aren't sure about the next day.

You've got your locavores, sensuously rolling in the local fare of this great valley. You've got your McDonalds junkies, Dunkin Donut freaks....Why buy organic fruits and veggies? There's nothing wrong with the artificial coloring in my kids yogurt! You've got vegetarian neighbors, backyard gardens, Kill Your TV, NPR, This Old House.

You've got summer carnivals and Autumn fairs. Two day music festivals. Arts, crafts, Harvest Suppers, local folks and tourists. You've got humanity eating, sleeping, growing, producing, engaging, loving, fighting, living, dying, starting, ending, driving, walking, crawling, building, tearing down, and CONSUMING.

Is a proposed Walmart really going to be the stick in the spoke of Greenfield? Sure there are the stories of underpaid employees, ill treated, overworked, lousy health insurance plans. There are the reported sweat shops run by child labor to produce the Hanna Montana t shirts. There are the tainted deli sandwiches eaten by many. Remember the "news" story a few years back....Donald Trump and then wife Ivana back to school shopping at a *gasp* Walmart!!!!

If you are outraged, then by gum do something about it!!!! Traffic will be a crazed mess on my street for certain!!!! I am not a Walmart fan (I have shopped there. My 5 year old wanted a Hanna Montana backpack for school. That is another story all on its own!) but I can say gratefully that I am not at an economic state to be forced to spend my earnings there. Is anti Walmart sentiment a bit of classicism? Who are the people that shop there, their annual income? Some will say "have you seen the people that shop there?"

Locals are hoping to have the proposed square footage reduced. Lots of Big Box meeting are scheduled locally so all can have their say. Living in this area has made me mindful and fully supportive of spending my dollars as locally as possible. I remember our first snowstorm in our new house and buying a shovel at the local hardware store (long closed now.) I was so proud of myself for spending $17 on that shovel when I could have driven to Home Depot and spent maybe $10?

Is it possible that all can coexist? It's not going to be built smack in the middle of downtown (thank God!) Maybe there are families hoping for employment, health insurance, and less expensive goods. Their everyday worries far outweigh traffic snarls and the insidious global takeover of Walmart.

Sadly, the world is not a fair playing field.

Just my humble opinion...

This Is Too Good To Make Up

2010-08-24T11:15:00.002-04:00

"Mom, some people in other countries eat sheep brains, I wouldn't because my belly would be filled with sheep memories."

All Of This In Five Minutes

2010-08-05T17:57:00.003-04:00

"Does it hurt to have babies?" I'm not going to sugar coat this one...in the simplest terms I told Lola it hurts like a shot hurts, only for a while. HA! "Mom, why can't I adopt instead?" Of course I said this was also a way to do it if she wished. I told her she had lots and lots of years to think about this. From my lips to God's ears! "Just adopt for me and let me have the baby. I don't want it to hurt."

"Are superheros real, like in the cartoons?" "No, not with superpowers, X-ray vision, super heated rays blasting from their eyes to melt walls, super power wonder twins activate!" I told her there are REAL superheros. People that help others and make the world a better place. Maybe teachers, doctors, nurses, people that give to those who don't have much. "Like Santa and you and Daddy."

To be ranked with Santa...not bad.

Holy Crap, Or IS It?

2010-08-02T15:46:00.006-04:00

We're back from a fantastic, well deserved vacation in Ocean Pines Maryland. Sean's youngest brother,his wife and son live about two hours from there. It was just what I had wished for. Lots of quality beach time and playing in the waves with Lola. Gibson loved the ocean but only in our arms with wave mist tickling his toes. I had more time to get to know my sister in law, who I've always know was a great woman and a devoted mom.

Driving back to Massachusetts was nothing short of hellacious! What Map Quest said would be a 7 and a half hour drive turned into a death rattle of 10 plus hours!!! Traffic was creeping by and we'd see the same irritated drivers with that "just wanna get home" weary expression on their faces. The kids were troopers, watching their DVDs, coloring, sleeping (Gibson), and playing with their stuffed animals. Gibson would hold Pup Pup up to the window and say "I see the pool!" whenever we would pass a body of water. He called the ocean the "pool" too!

We were navigating through New York, lower level, George Washington Bridge when the kids began to sing and make screeching noises together, trying to out decibel each other. Reading directions and making sure we weren't heading into Harlem was a bit dicey and we yelled at the kids to be quiet until we were out of the city.

Under quiet duress, Lola noticed lots of great buildings. She asked who made all the buildings. I told her people, architects, etc. I explained about blueprints and the machinery and bricks, windows, all the stuff needed to fabricate a building. She's often said she wants to be an architect or a rock singer when she grows up.

"Does it hurt when God makes people?" We were gloriously free from the sooty confinement of I 95 and on our way to I 91 when she asked this. "You know, when people are here, when they were born from God." Oddly enough, I never mention the word "GOD." Sure, when she tags along to Mass with the ending promise of a donut, she may have remembered a thing or two, but I usually speak in the "Jesus" lingo to her. The sweet, humble, young man who was the cute Italian ceramic babe nestled in the hay under the Christmas tree. The Jesus who is the Shepherd finding the poor lost baby lamb caught in the wicked bramble. The Jesus who is kind, likes to share his toys, not lip off to Mom, and eats his veggies and doesn't wipe his boogers on the pillow case at night, kind of Jesus.

I could feel Sean instantly tense up at the wheel. "I don't think it hurts him at all baby bear." She persists "But how does he do it?" I suggest by way of women having babies. "But why have babies all the time? Why does he let us do it that way?" My head is spinning and I don't want to dig myself into a religious tar pit. I would rather like to get out of the blankety-blankety car, have a couple glasses of wine and revel at the fact we are finally home!

"Because he loves us and it's his way of wanting more people to love each other and not be lonely." I felt pretty smug with my answer and Lola wanted her Simon the Chipmunk stuffed animal she won at the Ocean City Boardwalk.

Later that evening (10 and a half hours later, as fore mentioned) Sean said he wasn't really happy with my answers and didn't want his kids having any false ideas. "Do we really know there is a God?" "Are YOU really certain? I want her to make her own conclusions and not have her believing in fairy tales. I want her to know of other religions and other ways. I want her to have discussions with people and be aware there are other opinions and beliefs."

Sean and I have oil and water views on organized religion and subscribed belief systems. We've made it work so far, after ten years of living together, then a marriage in a Catholic church (thanks Mom), ten additional years of wedded bliss, baptism of both our children into said church, weathering heated arguments about my beliefs and the trauma (mostly self made) and all doubt and good 'ol Catholic Guilt!!! I can say we respectfully agree to disagree at most times. Do I know God exists? I sure as hell hope so. I've lived on this, thrived on this, denied this, banked on this, run away as far as I could on this, bet ponies on this....It's all I know. Am I brainwashed? Blissfully indulgent? Afraid of that huge hand coming down from the clouds to bitch-slap me or smote me.

Do I know God exists? I don't, I guess I really don't. What I do know, what I know deep in my heart, and I know that throbbing organ pretty well by now; I know I wish I were a better person. I WANT to be a better person, I'm just lazy. I want to do better in the world, to make a better world. I'm just lazy. I want to be loved and to love. I want to not judge. I could care less if someone judges me. At the end of the day I know oh so little. Yet, I plunder on, walking the walk, talking the talk, smoke and mirrors and all that gussied up stuff that makes me feel better.

Once in a while, just a small glimmer, a nugget of truth embeds itself in my brain. I look at my two children. There HAS TO BE A REASON for them, a tangible reason they free fell into my lap. I look at my husband, so complex and so readable at the same time, surely this person was meant for me, and just me. I look at nature, such a gift, the people around me, who love me, truly love me. This I know is all true and tangible. All bets are on. This I am taking to the track.

There Aint Enough Calgon In The World...

2010-07-20T16:13:00.003-04:00

Someone tell me, remind me it gets easier? There are days I cringe at the word "MOMMY!" I literally have to barricade myself in the bathroom and throw myself down on the floor, rocking in a fetal position for a few minutes before I have the courage to venture back out and become "MOMMY!" again!

Lola is into raging fits and blaming everything that goes wrong on me. She gets out of the tub and she's wet and cold, it's my fault. We go to the playground and she gets sand in her shoes, it's my fault. She gets marched up to her room for a well deserved time out, YEP, it's my fault. The other day she screamed and called me a "stupid loser!" That vitroil rant earned her another 15 minutes and no TV that night. She fights with me when I brush her hair. She didn't want a ponytail and got syrup in her hair at breakfast....AGAIN, my fault.

The best way to handle these is to also give myself a time out. Gibson has resorted to throwing everything and anything her can get his hands on. He throws his heavy Tonka trucks at Lola. He lobs his sippy cups at Lola's head. He hurtles his plates and bowls to the floor, usually with food still in them. He's taken to spitting his milk out and allowing it to waterfall down his chest and belly onto the floor. He's reverted back to using his fingers in his applesauce and creating his own hair elixir with mashed fruits and cracker crumbs. And I thought sand was hard to get out of his hair!

He loves to play Sean's drums in the attic and will scream "Dums, Dums" until hes's almost passed out. He screams "bathy" at the top of his lungs and rams his head into the bathroom door if we don't open it. Best of all, he takes off his diaper and flings it anywhere he likes. This is most often followed by peeing on the floor or rugs. We've started potty training, silver lining I guess. He found a Coco Puff wedged in the sofa cushion, pointed and said "poop!"

He's insists on clinging to me at every chance. He pinches and hits Lola when they're in the convertible back seat. The car is fairly small and there is less than six inches between their car seats. On the way to the grocery store today I had to pull over and referee their hitting, squabbling, bare knuckle brawl fest.

While Gibby finally took his nap, I thought I'd put off vacuuming and bake banana bread with Lola, some quality mom/daughter stuff. That Betty Crocker moment resulted in a time out for Lola, in her room with no DVD privileges for the rest of the night. The banana bread smells great though. Maybe I'll lock myself in the bathroom with a book and a loaf of that!!!!!!!

Big Thoughts About Babies.

2010-07-13T19:44:00.003-04:00

"But how do the babies get in the tummy anyway?" Lola asked this again today. Last month she wanted to know why I wanted children and why we chose to adopt Gibson. Not an easy question to answer. Why did I want children? I was never one of those girls who dreamed of growing up, getting married and having children. I never really thought about it.....until I met Sean and he was eager to have a family far sooner than I was. I felt I had worked hard to become who I was, I was finally comfortable with myself and had quelled all my demons (at least summoned them far, far below for another time.) Having children would change everything. Most selfishly it would change ME!

Two kids and a few years later.....THANK GOD it changed me!!!! So, back to the birds and the bees with Lola. She then asks "Will I ever have babies?" We're driving home from Gibson's first hair cut. "Sure, If you want to have babies..." She's quiet, I study her in the rear view mirror. I know she's really mulling this one over. "I could have two, one for me to take care of and one for Jakey to take care of." Jake is her neighbor, partner in crime, shorter sidekick, preschool buddie, and like Burton and Taylor; they've been stormily married and divorced several times.

"But how do babies get in the tummy anyway?" I told her once before, as simple as possible about anatomy and how the two are needed to make a baby. She knows the correct terms for both sets of anatomy but proclaims loudly she owns a "Pagina!" She doesn't believe it's fair to only have one name and likes the combined sound of both!

Lola has a simpler explaination about babies. She likes to imagine everyone is born with a small, wee baby in their tummies and when you are a grown up, and you decide to have babies; you simply let it grow!

Shave and A Haircut.

2010-07-13T18:28:00.003-04:00

I thought summer was supposed to be lazy, spending tranquil days in the shade, cocooned in a hammock, sipping a Mojito, great book in hand? Oh, wait....I have two kids......

Gibson had his first REAL HAIRCUT today!!!! He has the greatest, and I mean the greatest hair! Super curly and it just springs out of his head, these perfect corkscrews of follicle joy!!! Picture Tigger bouncing on his tail in The Hundred Acre Woods....you get the idea.

Ethnic hair is a bit labor intensive. It needs conditioning and picked out several times a day and nightly. I use all natural hair products without parabens and all those nasty laurel sulfates that strip hair of natural oils. I'm on top of this one! Then I noticed the back becoming matted, the curls were turning into dreads in the back, no matter how much I picked or conditioned.

I phoned a place nearby, Global Cuts, who specialize in ethnic hair. I was assured by Leslie that Gibson was in the best of care. We walked into what appeared to be a classic men's barber shop but with a funky edge. Framed posters of Jimi Hendrix covered the walls, black and white photos of 60's and 70's jazz greats shared space with a large map of Africa, mini flags from all over the world framed the mirrors.

Gibson sat on my lap as the cutting began. I had hoped a few matted strands could be dealt with easily. Leslie suggested a decent trim and said the regrowth would be even healthier. I expected Gibby to be squirming and fussing as she picked through his hair. He did great, I was the one sweating as his black curly locks cascaded to the worn tile floor. Lola said he didn't look like Gibby, that he didn't look like Baby Gibby anymore. I took photos of his abandoned tresses covering the floor and photos of him with his new look. He kept patting his head saying "hair cut!" and then clapping for himself.

He looks older to me now, and I have to say I miss the curls. They will come back and I'll know to be more vigilant with his styling. He's growing up and it makes me a bit sad. I'm not sure what I'm longing for; his curls or that precious time before his trim today. I look at him and my heart breaks, my little Gibby is changing, morphing, growing into a little boy who is becoming so sure of himself at only the age of 2. Lola says Daddy will definitely like Gibby's "new do."

A Cookie In One Hand Is Better Than None

2010-06-07T19:25:00.005-04:00

Lola is onto me!!!! I bought Chips Ahoy, Reduced Fat. She and Gibby were munching on their before bed snack. "Mom, these aren't the cookies we've had before." She extended the cookie out before her eyes and gave it a mistrustful once-over. "What do you mean? They're the ones you wanted me to buy." "No, there's something funny with them."

When they are babies, it's easy to make sure they eat veggies and fruits. I find the older they get, they develop color aversion to certain foods. Green to Lola means NO GO!!! I made her spinach ravioli the other night and she noticed suspicious green specks of vitamin goodness. Once in a while she will eat corn on the cob. As a toddler, she loved grape tomatoes and avocados. I'm overjoyed she at least eats apples and blueberries!

Out of desperation and fear of rickets and scurvy, I made fruit smoothies and added two containers of pureed carrots. "Mom, why does it look orange?" I said "Oh honey, that's the color of the fruit." I served it to them both in fancy brandy snifters with straws. They loved them, for about three seconds and then abandoned them. Newman the mutt gave an appreciative wag after licking them both clean.

Last year, maybe several years ago? there were two popular cookbooks giving tips on providing veggie laden meals and snacks by hiding said unpopular food groups into everyday dinners. I'm torn, do you surprise attack and become the "sneaky chef" or do you teach them veggies are good for you, join a farm share, let them help you pick fruits and veggies still warm from the sun.

It continues to be an ongoing battle when Lola wants cookies or chocolate for breakfast. She knows she will get "the look" from me and be handed a yogurt drink and an organic blueberry breakfast bar. I'm not a complete food Nazi. Once in a while if she's running late, I send her out the door with Sean: a cookie in one hand and her toothbrush in the other.

Birdie Blues

2010-06-03T12:36:00.005-04:00

Almost every spring, a robin attempts to play house atop the pillar of our front porch. Some robins begin the nest process only to leave under cover of night, their nests half built, a gaping hole with grass and twigs blowing in the warm breeze. It must be the activity of the house that makes them so unsure. I wonder about the birds that build under noisy train tunnels or choose sun scorched street light posts in busy downtown cross sections. They seem to stick it out, or tuck it under, or whatever they do in that nest?

I watched a tentative expectant birdie begin the building. She would fly to our porch with beaks full of grassy brick and mortar. Last week she added some tissues we had left on our side porch. Sean wanted the nest down last week. He's freaked out by birds in general and the poop is unsanitary and gross. I asked him to leave it alone, hoping eggs had been laid. I wanted the kids to see the nest and eventually babies learning to fly for the first time.

A few days ago while Mama Bird was away, I grabbed a step stool and my camera. I hovered the camera above the nest and captured some gorgeous pics of three perfect, bluest of robin egg blue creations. Nature is an amazing study.

I remember several years ago I miscarried our first pregnancy. I was five months along and we had named the baby and received Christmas gifts from family while visiting in Pennsylvania. We lost the baby that New Years Day. That spring, I watched a bird build her nest. Sean knocked it down with a broom and disposed of it in the woods. I watched that bird come back to her roost and take in the horror of no hope, no home, no babies. I knew how she felt; raw, drained, ripped empty, confused. I sat in the hallway and cried for almost two hours.

I showed Sean the photos of the eggs and it triggered that memory. You never forget, you sometimes talk to your spouse about it, even after seven years, and two beautiful children later. Most days I feel slightly like those eggs, soon ready to hatch. I am resilient: yet feel a scuff, a peck, a small crack kept under control.

Boom Boom, Out Go The Lights!

2010-05-31T13:04:00.005-04:00

Power outages are a bitch! Some sort of mini tornado swept through Madison Circle (as well as Franklin County and beyond) and played twister with trees and power lines. Walking the neighborhood the next day was a bit eerie with plucked out trees and intricate, one hundred year old root systems pulled from the earth like baby carrots.

Live wires were everywhere and people surveying the damage. I wandered around in my pajamas, coffee less and wondering if preschool was axed for the week. Other folks crept out of their homes looking up at the sky and then the front lawn carnage below. My newly planted perennials held their ground well.

I thought of New Orleans and other areas hit by disaster and thanked God it was nothing like those events. Crews began to arrive on the scene with trucks, blocking access to our circle and firefighters were stationed at all entrance points. Every now and again, one of them would knock on my door to use my bathroom, clomping up the stairs in their heavy, yellow gear. My neighbor had to show up for work, so I babysat her son. Other kids seemed to hone in on my house for a play date. The afternoon was filled with kids, snacks, and water play in the yard.

Sean was home early with flashlights, lanterns and dry ice. Lola was distraught, no cartoons and no computer. I would flick the light switch on in the pantry only to be reminded we had no power. By day three we were all pissy! I could not suffer through another night of whining kids wanting cartoons, warm wine, and Scrabble by lantern.

3 AM, Sean wakes me...."Everyone's lights are on except ours!" I was dreading cleaning out the fridge and throwing away groceries bought the day before the storm. Sure enough, the next morning, everyone was basking in electrified, glorious, artificial light. All were having freshly brewed coffee, reading their papers, sending e mails, making phone calls to other happy full wattage friends. We were still acoustic.

We needed to call an electrician and fast! Memorial Day Weekend was looming and our hopes were fading. Sean made at least 15 calls from the yellow pages. (Amazing, the phone book: we never use the phonebook, we just Google the number!!) A half hour went by, then the cell rang. An electrician was on his way!!! It seems the storm blew, completely fried our breaker panel. We were fully restored within 20 minutes! I hate to see what our bill will be, these guys charge extra for weekends, and holiday. We brewed a lovely, hot pot of coffee, had steaming hot showers and turned on the TV for the kids. Lola was so happy she kissed SpongeBob, leaving lip prints on the screen.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO ME!

2010-05-13T10:19:00.001-04:00

Hey, I just realized yesterday was my ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY as a blogger!!!!!!!

Soccer Stinks!

2010-05-13T09:34:00.002-04:00

I have a mean hankerin for bacon this morning! Opened up a packet of Oscar Myer Center Cut and it's in the oven as I write. Is there nothing better than a well behaved toddler happily playing, bacon smells wafting through the house, sun shining in through the windows, a luke warm cup o' joe at my side: I expect to hear the screen door slam and the sound of children jumping through lawn sprinklers. I should have never quit my gig at Hallmark Cards!

Lola wanted to try soccer camp this summer. I was going to sign her up then thought she may not like it. A YMCA employee suggested we try it and then pay the $35 or $40 fee. Wise suggestion on her part! Last Tuesday I picked Lo up from pre school and we headed to the college field. We were a bit early and we watched nets being set up and soccer balls being unloaded from the back of a small van. I brought Gibson's plastic lawn mower and some cookies to keep all occupied. It was a chilly, damp late afternoon and I hadn't thought to bring a blanket or lawn chairs.

Parents soon starting arriving with kids in tow, the kids wearing Y Soccer t shirts and shin guards. We had already missed last Tuesday's first introduction class where they apparently handed out the required goods. Two of Lola's classmates showed up and she was so excited. I said hello to parents and kids settled into groups. One of Lo's friends Mom is a soccer coach so she took Lola with her to form their team.

Lola seemed to be having a blast, running around with her friends. Gibby and I moved closer to the end of the field where her group was, watching them pass the ball with their feet. In the middle of one of the drills, she grew bored and wanted to play with her friend Cameron. I told her Cameron was on another team and practicing like she was doing. She began to get cranky and wanted to roll down the hill. "I don't like soccer, it's boring! I want my friends to be on my team! I don't like that woman telling me what to do!"

I will admit I was really disappointed. Not in Lola so much, but because I thought this might be something good for her, a challenge, something physical, something she could learn and have fun with. She tends to shy away from things if she feels she can't do them. I was hoping this would be a sort of confidence builder. With her recent diagnosis of sensory integration "stuff" I was hoping this would benefit her.

We walked away from her team and up the hill. She was crying. "I want to play soccer but I don't like that woman telling me what to do!" I told Lola this is what is expected. "You have to learn to play soccer and she's the coach, so you have to pay attention and listen to her to know the rules of the game." Such is life, and I worry Lola may have difficulty listening to authority and following rules. Am I worrying needlessly? She's only five. She cried in the car for a while and Gibby was upset because Lola was upset. I didn't say much on the way home, just thinking about the events.

We got home and she wanted to color, have a bath and dinner. "Are you upset Mom?" "No honey, I guess I just wanted you to have fun and at least stick out today's practice until the end. Hey, at least you got this cool t shirt, and at least you tried soccer, I'm proud of you for trying something new!" I gave her a hug and she couldn't wait to show Sean her t shirt and tell him about the "soccer day."

Ah....Love

2010-05-06T12:25:00.010-04:00

I took a call from a friend of mine this morning. She crabbed and bitched for a while about nothing in particular. In my best British accent I asked her "Who pooped in your flower bed this morning dearie?" She paused and asked if this has ever happened to me.

She began her tale. She had just put her 10 month old son down for bed for the night. She and her husband had dinner and several glasses of wine. He cleaned the kitchen, loaded the dishwasher, while she took a bath and changed into her pjs. He came up to floss his teeth before checking his emails. "How bout a quickie before you retire for the evening?" she said standing stark naked in the bathroom doorway, trying to hold in her baby paunch and look sexy in the harsh hallway light. "No way, I just had a couple glasses of wine and two helpings-I don't think I have it in me!"

As nonchalantly as could be: when you're naked and needy, she said "Rain check tomorrow?" She sulked off to bed with a book and could hear him downstairs watching HGTV probably caressing a bowl of Chunky Monkey or Cherry Garcia.

Marriage can be hard, taxing, frustrating. Intimacy: same deal! My husband's Aunt told me she has (*WARNING* ADULT CONTENT TO FOLLOW AFTER NEXT PUNCTUATION MARK!) "fuck you" sex with her husband. When they're mad at each other and accidentally bump into each other in the hallway she says "Fuck you!" He replies in kind. Cigarette anyone? Maybe it's more amusing when she tells it?

What Can I Be?

2010-05-05T13:12:00.004-04:00

I have baskets and baskets of laundry to do and I should scrub my tub and bathroom floor. Instead, I think I'll blog to you and then have some iced coffee on my side porch while Gibby is still napping.

I've been trying to stick to a consistent bedtime for Lola. Sean is usually home from work between 7 and 7:30. Some nights, 8:30. On those nights, Gibson is in bed and we squeeze in some time together over wine talking about our days (Sean and I, not Lola...you know...the wine...) Once Lo is in bed Sean and I have dinner around 9, leaving us, as a couple little time to communicate.

So, up to bed go we. Lola spied a book on the table "Twenty-Odd Ducks" Why, Every Punctuation Mark Counts! Great colorful illustrations and tongue in cheek education about duh...punctuation! I was hoping for more insight into colons and semi colons. Anyway, I read her the book. She didn't understand why every two pages had the same sentence but different pictures. (The magical use of punctuation and how it carries a meaning!)

We finished the book and I rubbed her back for a few minutes. "OK, mom has gotta go spend time now with Daddy and have dinner." Several whimpers and small kicks to the bed, "You know what I hate about being 5? When I grow up no one will lay with me at night!" Very sweet, if tragic, insight about growing up for Lola. It's such a push-pull age for her. She wants all control and says she wants to be the boss, yet she realizes she'll lose something by growing up.

"You know you will always be my baby, even when you are an old lady." I soothed her hair away from her eyes, so big and blue. "What can I be when I grow up?" She's told me she wants to be an illustrator, an architect, teacher or rock star. "Eliase has two mommies, I could be a mommy just like you!" I told her that sounded like a great idea. She told me she could help take care of Gibby. She was silent for a while and I thought she had fallen asleep. She turned over and said "But what if Gibby grows up too?

That's my worry, they are growing up too fast and I barely have the time to catch the memories.

All Is Quiet Upstairs

2010-04-28T09:24:00.005-04:00

A new follower!!!!! Thanks Elaine!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Gibson was eerily quiet this morning. We've opted to remove the baby gate that leads upstairs. He enjoys climbing the steps and he's quite agile even with his sippy cup, blankie, and Pup Pup. The other morning I was taking a shower and he greeted me with a plate of scrambled eggs I had made for him minutes earlier. He lost not one chunk of egg on his way up!

Someone forgot to flush the toilet and Gibby had a hay day playing in soggy toilet paper, smearing it all over the floor and walls..gross! Lola's favorite quote lately, "I'll never understand babies!" On one particularly exasperating day she quipped "Well, he can't get any worse."

Gibby will enter day care sometime in mid June, two days. It will give me a bit of a break and spend some quality time with Lola. We've decided not to enroll her in her day care's summer camp, instead have her home to have fun at the lake and play dates with friends. I may regret this decision. She can be a handful, very temperamental, and prone to over reacting to situations.

Through some intervention we've learned she may have SID, Sensory Integration Dysfuncion. Yea, I know...very scary to me! The term defines someone who has difficulty with processing sensory input. It has to do with the central nervous system not operating smoothly and Lola working super hard to integrate her senses. Children with poor sensory processing are more likely to over react to everyday stuff, lose control, and take longer to calm down after a tantrum. We took her to an occupational therapist who determined her core strength and balance are rated low. In a nutshell, all of these things are tied together.

The more I'm reading up on this stuff, the more "Ah Ha!" moments I'm having. She is craving more stimulation because she lacks these stimulus feelings elsewhere. She's incredibly loud, and dramatic and playful. Her "I GOTTA BE ME!" moments as I like to call them. She tends to freak out at the movies because of the loud trailers shown before the movie. Her shirt sleeves have to have a certain length, now she hates wearing leggings, she battled last winter with her teachers over snow pants and boots, she hates, HATES, having her fingernail and toenails clipped, she has recently gotten over her fear of scissors and had her tresses trimmed. Again, these all have to do with heightened senses and her ability to process them (or so I am trying to puzzle together?)

In short, a bit of a modulation issue...different kids have different temperaments and most times hers clashes with mine. Great learning tool for me, to model my reaction to what is really going on with her, figuring out why she is really hesitant to try something or defiant on some days, wanting all control most days.

It's Sunday night, and we've just had an enormous battle getting Lola to bed. I set the timer and said ten more minutes. She screamed, had a raging hissy fit and said she hated her life. I have to be firm and show no emotion. She's had a big weekend. I'm hoping she doesn't wake Gibby up. This post has taken me several days to write which is not the norm, usually I bang one out.

I'm going to stick to my parental guns, seek help, and continue reading my books from Amazon. Lola's school behaviorist stopped by Thursday for a visit. I love her insight and she truly loves kids and agrees Lo is a fantastic kid. Who wouldn't? She is!!!!!

Iggy Pop at 62 - Times Online

2010-04-22T08:59:00.000-04:00

Iggy Pop at 62 - Times Online

Ah...Iggy...you still have my heart! Lola picked out her own clothes this morning. A vintage Rolling Stones T shirt and a cute pair of denim capris with embroidered flowers down the leg. She wanted to know if she could wear my old Ray Bans to school. Of course!

I Love You This Much

2010-04-21T09:10:00.003-04:00

Spent over an hour trying to assemble ZhuZhu Pet Condos and a slide! I sat cross legged (Indian style as it was once referred to, before the PC Police started busting heads!) on the floor until there was no feeling in my legs. Kinda had this floating feeling as if I had reached a higher level of consciousness. No, I realized, just loss of circulation to the lower extremities!

Nugget and Mr. Squiggles are a hit. The best part, you don't have to feed them or clean out their cages. They are battery run hamsters who squeak and chirp and talk to each other and run along tunnels and rooms of elaborate homes (some assembly required....) Gibson and Lo spent at least an hour last night, playing peacefully with them.

There is also a grotesque amount of Bubber tracked through the house too. A bit like Moon Sand, a bit like Playdoh, feels great to mush and squish it together!!! Very therapeutic. Great colors, never dries out, supposedly gluten free and non toxic. Why gluten free? It's a floor wax, it's a dessert topping!

Lo's Luau is this weekend at the YMCA. More gifts, more mayhem. Mayhem is her favorite word lately. Poop seems to be the most popular this week. She's singing all songs about poop. It's a phase, I know.

She asked me last night if I love her more than Gibson. I love you both all the time, all with my heart I told her. "Don't you love me more because I was born first?" I wonder if she was asking pecking order or if the question had more to do with Gibson and his adoption. "I'll show you, look," I drew a heart on the back of a piece of scrap paper. "This is my heart." I drew a line down the center of the heart to show two halves. "One side is for you and one side is for Gibby."

"That makes sense." She was off to the living room to play with her ZhuZhu Pets.

High 5 Lola Rose!

2010-04-19T09:32:00.003-04:00

Monday morning. Lola and Gibson are watching The Squeakquel (Alvin and the Chipmunks) upstairs in Lo's room. All is relatively quiet for now so I'll blog as long as time (or the impending smell of smoke or shattering glass) allows!

Today is Lola Rose's 5Th birthday!!!!! 5 WOW!!!!!!!!! I remember the day so clearly. It was a Tuesday and I had a doctor visit scheduled that morning. Around 3 AM I had to pee, I waddled to the bathroom and peed, and peed, and continued to pee. Then it dawned on me...HOLY CRAP, MY WATER BROKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I climbed back into the warm bed. Sean stirred, "Everything OK?" he sleepily mumbled. "Yeah, my water just broke." I was oddly calm. We both fell back to sleep.

I woke to the smell of coffee. Sean was downstairs on the phone calling work. I showered, dressed, makeup the whole sha-bang. Guess what? I was four centimeters dilated at the doctor's office. "Today is the day folks!" We were told to come back when contractions began. Back home, more phone calls. Sean made me eat a bowl of granola with sliced bananas. "Honey, honey, Sean, I need you!!" The contractions were overwhelming. Simultaneously I felt like my head and pelvis were being sent on opposite roller coaster rides. I was having a hell of a time breathing. "EEEhhhh OOhhhhhh EEEEhhhhhh OOOOhhhhhhhhhh," back to the doctor. Who's this puffed up pinata of a woman?

Family was on the way to Massachusetts from Pennsylvania. We settled into the delivery room. Drips, IVs, monitor machines. Nurses names written, erased and rewritten on the dry board all afternoon. My midwives coming and going. Doctors peeking in, prying open, prodding, poking...This had been a long journey. Two years of fertility treatments, a high risk pregnancy, five months doctor ordered bed rest: we were READY TO HAVE THIS BABY!

The anesthesiologist came in to play pin the tail on the puffy ladies back. Third time a charm! Bingo! I was psyched about the patient controlled epidural, the first for this hospital! I was happy, scared, anxious, giddy. Sean was by my side with that goofy Christmas morning glow! Several hours later I was given a pre flight cocktail. Soooooo nice. I was Shecky Green cracking jokes with the nurses. "I'll be here for the next three days, thank you, thank you, try the roast beef on your way out!"

Flowers were being delivered by the armloads. The room was filling up with fragrance and sun. We opened the windows, I could hear the street traffic below. OUCH OUCH OUCH OUCH....Dress rehearsal is now over! Now I was really uncomfortable!!! Sean's Mom popped into view. "SURPRISE WE'RE HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!" She blew into the room followed by my quieter Mom and Dad. Hugs, kisses, flurry of how was the trip, etc...I promised myself I would not cry when I saw my parents. Too late. The pain was fast and furious, a train wreck inside my body. I heard the nurse say "Are you alright?" She was addressing my mom who looked rather pasty and limp. Mom was escorted out of the room and passed out in the doorway. Dad and Mom were in the room next door recuperating as I gave birth.

I kept my eyes closed almost the entire time and held on rabidly to Sean's fingers. He had to take his watch and wedding band off because my grip was so severe. I couldn't remember how to breath and I felt I was drowning. I was flailing in murky black water. Somehow my body knew what to do and took over, I cried out in a rhythm that carried me onward. An internal song I didn't know I knew how to recite. A pushing, a pulling, a straining, a burning, tearing, release, relief. 8:23 PM, Lola burst onto the scene; big, healthy, pink 8 pound 8 ounces and 22 inches long!

Magically pizza was delivered to the room. Champagne was popped. I was being stitched up. Third degree tears and three minute long contractions. Shouldn't balloons and confetti be falling from the ceiling? Ah, but we had our prize didn't we. Happy Birthday Lola Rose :)

*

Out of the Mouth of Lola

2010-04-16T11:17:00.004-04:00

NEWSFLASH.....

All pirates are Canadian, so says Lola. I asked her where she heard this and she said she read it in the newspaper!

She's also convinced Gibson is either Chinese or a "Mexico" baby? She has this fascination with Mexico and Hawaii lately. "Why do you think Gibson is Chinese," I asked. "Because he eats noodles and fortune cookies." Oh, OK? Gibson has never had a fortune cookie and dislikes the texture of spaghetti.

She also gave me the run down on how prison works. "You do something bad and you get locked up. Then you have to wait, just be patient and the judge comes to your cage and lets you out." It seems a friend of Lola's in daycare has a Daddy who is in jail. Very matter of fact Lola shrugged and said, "You just have to wait your time out."

Sunshine On My Shoulder Makes Me Cry

2010-04-14T12:31:00.005-04:00

What an amazing, gorgeous day today is! Gibby and I walked downtown to check out the new coffee place and Raven Used Books. We walked over to the Greenfield Energy Park to soak up some rays. Gibson had a great time climbing in, out and over the wooden stationary train.

Gaggles of people were out. Business men in suits leaving the courthouse, people dropping off mail, cafes opening up, shopkeepers Windexing their front windows, two women conversing in sign language sitting in front of Siren Cafe; sipping coffee. There are two guys who sit out in front of Greenfields Market and ask for change. Today's special at La Petite Cafe, turkey club with lettuce, tomato, Swiss cheese and cranberry relish. New construction at The Puskin building caused pedestrian backup on the sidewalk, as did a young woman wearing teeny tiny shorts with cowboy boots. Women with their yoga mats and eco friendly water bottles were coming out of the studio, stepping into the bright sun and the chorus of steady beeping of the garbage trucks.

I watched Gibby play and wave occasionally at me, peeking through the wooden windows of the train. Every so often he would make sure I was still there. I was thinking how lucky I am, how today is this glorious day, a gift. I worried it would all too soon end. I worried there may not be a tomorrow. I began to worry for the safety of my children. I worried the earth or the sun, or some planet would stop spinning on its axis and this monstrous orb would fall flaming from the sky. Sometimes the day is just too perfect and I wonder what will happen next?

A Day Without Spongebob

2010-04-08T18:06:00.003-04:00

For once it's relatively peaceful at 6 PM on Madison Circle. Usually it's a bedlam of Spongebob Squarepants, noisy toys, and Lola and Gibby competing for air time! There's a flurry of after school snacks, drawing paper, crayons, kicked off sandy shoes and who said something nasty to someone else or what was gross for lunch. "What's that gooey brown stuff they give you on a bun?" I have to say her menu at school is impressive, from chicken teriyaki, stuffed shells, sloppy joes, and assorted fresh veggies and fruits. Healthy snacks twice a day? Not a bad deal.

There were no cartoons today after school. Lola hit Gibby in the face because Gibby was after her toothbrush this morning. I heard him cry and saw him rubbing his cheek. We do not under ANY circumstance tolerate hitting! I told Lola to apologize to Gibson and no cartoons when she was home from school. "Mommy do you still love me?" "Yes, I do, but I'm very sad that you hit Gibby when you should have used your words and taken your toothbrush back."

As soon as we were home she asked for a piece of her Easter candy. The next request, cartoons. "Mom said no because you hit Gibby this morning. This is your consequence for hitting." I was impressed and surprised there was no gnashing and wailing. She and Gibby took their baths then played downstairs with books. I turned on the radio and we had a dance party. Lola taught me a new dance called "The Wedding." You hold each other very close and stiff like it's your first school dance and you're scared shit less. She's growing up way too fast!

Mother DOM DOM DOM DOM DOM!!!!!!!!!

2010-03-31T12:45:00.007-04:00

Last night Sean and I were brainstorming various ways to regain some parental control over Lola. Maybe we never really had any? She's always "ruled the roost" as Sean likes to say. During our meeting with her teacher and pricipal yesterday Sean was relaying our parenting skills, or I felt, lack of! I was cringing as Sean said we (ME!) placate her, try to reason with her, and give her far too many choices

"She's always bored and wanting things to do! She snacks all the time! It's a snack train at our house!" "We give her (ME!) too many choices at dinner time!" We (ME!) try to reason to her and explain our actions!" I felt any minute Social Services was going to trample the door down and take me away for overindulgence of a 4 year old!

I was on the offensive last night hashing it over with him. Throw me a bone at least would you! I get it though. Maybe it is because he's not at home and parenting 24/7 that he sees our interactions differently. I'm in the thick of it, in the trenches, eating, breathing, sleeping all that is motherdom! It's not criticism it's "maybe try it this way." I'm open to it, believe me! We are fantastic at co parenting. Fantastic in the way we do listen and respect each other's opinions and want the best for our kids, while keeping our sanity.

I parent based on what I know and equally what I DON'T know. For me, parenting is this complicated mess of memories from your own childhood and how you feel you did or didn't get what you needed. I think parents of this generation in our 40s have so many resources now and intellectualize our pasts and mistakes we feel were wrought against us as kids. It might be a bold proclamation to say our generation is taking parenting more seriously, more cerebral.

It's a slippery slope. I find I'm explaining to Lola why I'm taking a certain action when she's done something she knows she should not have done. She's almost 5 but still a child. I have to set boundaries and reinforce them. Lately I say "because I'm the mommy and this is my job!" I need to take my own advice.

Fine! Wear Your Pajamas to School!

2010-03-30T12:42:00.005-04:00

Sean and I met this morning with Lola's teacher and principal to discuss her behavior lately. She has always been an extremely tactile child and very aware of how textures feel against her skin.

Last winter it was the battle of the snow pants and equally menacing snow boots. They either were too small, too big, too squishy or just plain "bunchy!" Her unwillingness to get dressed for outside snow play was disruptive to her friends and taxing on the teachers. New snow pants and boots seemed to eventually placate her and she would eagerly tell me she had no fits and wore her snow pants and had fun outside in the snow!

New season, new challenges. She loathes getting dressed in the mornings lately. I've tried almost everything but promise her a pony if she'll just put her @#*&! pants on! If it's not a "stomach ache" it's her underwear are too big or too small. Her leggings are either too tight at the ankle or too "bunchy!" I've tried having her choose her clothes the night before to avoid these morning meltdowns to no avail.

Neither of us want to start our mornings this way. Sadly it clouds her entire day and she continues to be melancholy when I pick her up at the end of the day. Her teachers are amazing and recognize how it effects her. This is why we had our meeting this morning.

We agree she is incredibly smart and verbal and reaches a maximum boil over level comparable to the Manoloah! How did this child become so stressed and riddled with anxiety? Damn genetics and how she is uniquely wired I suppose. This incredibly animated, verbose, artistically inclined child becomes crippled with worries. Lately she asks, if she's done something verboten, "Mom, do you still love me?"

We agreed she should see someone who deals with children and anxiety and help us with coping skills and effective boundaries. I blew over $20 purchasing books on Amazon which I'm sure will contradict each other. I bought such titles as "How to talk to your kid, so your kid can talk" and "Setting Boundaries for Easily Frustrated Children." I also Googled "Escape to the South of France for under $200." Amazon didn't seem to have that book!

As I'm blogging about this, I received a call from the school's behaviorist. She recommended someone who she feels has a better grip on these types of childhood behaviors. I can't help but feel somewhat guilty in all of these. Not the best emotional reaction from me, I know. Somewhere deep inside of me, I parent a certain way to compensate for things I feel I may not have gotten as a kid. It can be a vicious cycle. Then little labels pop into my head like "challenging" child or "difficult" or better yet "defiant." I know none of these all encompass or begin to even describe Lola, but the drama lobe of my brain just goes there. Huh, the apple doesn't fall far from the banana tree.

Like all parents, I want the sparring and morning battles to stop. I know it could be far WORSE! It's a bit of a relief that I feel I need a new bag of tricks to help her navigate. It's also a relief that I have a husband who is just as concerned and an equal in the parenting department.

I'm lucky she is happy, creative, theatrical and sharp as a tack even if she is a tad manipulative! I'll schedule an appointment and read my books and hold off on buying that pony.....for now.

Just a few things that burn my toast!

2010-03-23T10:46:00.002-04:00

Enough of Tiger Woods and his Mea Culpa!!!!! The guy is a rat bastard who repeatedly cheated on his wife. The many bimbos along the way are equally greasy for telling their stories and letting the world in on their steamy texts!!!!

The Jessie James/Sandra Bullock saga...If I see another photo of the tattoo tramp I will throw my computer out the sun room window!

Why can't people walk their grocery carts back to the stalls conveniently located all over the parking lots? Must they leave them in the parking spaces? Is America that lazy or inconsiderate? Open up your recently purchased bag of Doritos and walk the cart back where it belongs!

Cashiers that don't look up at your or acknowledge you. They mumble and thrust the receipt at you. How about a friendly hello. Worse yet, they ramble to their bagger/coworker about what they did the night before or how they're pissed they have to work Saturday!

People that toss cigarette butts our their car window.

People that let their dogs ride in the back of pickups.

People that don't buckle their kids safely!

OK, I could go on and on about cruelty to children and the lack of compassion locally and globally. I could rant about racial and religious intolerance. I could rant about lack of respect. I could also get off my ass and join a cause to support these rights.

On the more humorous side...Lola asked the other day for a piece of bread and asked "could a have a little toast on it?"

What Does She See?

2010-03-19T11:33:00.003-04:00

I registered Lola for the big K a few days ago!!!! She is super excited to attend "big kid" classes. Her school (if I chose this one) is a five minute walk from our home.

Flushed with excitement and nervousness, we stormed through the front doors. The building had that paper, pencil, Pine Sol, institution odor about it. We registered in the library and copies of her birth certificate and immunization records were made. We passed by the gym and cafeteria looking for the Kindergarten classes.

Lola was running ahead of me pointing to all the student artwork on the walls. "I draw better than that!" Gibson was leaving a trail of pretzels falling from the stroller, marking our way to this higher education adventure.

We entered the first classroom. I had to abandon the stroller at the bottom of the steps and carried Gibson. There were several small tables set up with crayons, paper, puzzles. The room was open and sunny with waist high artwork and education posters tacked about the room. Bright cubbies held children's belongings. Further down the hall, windows overlooked the playground.

We met the first teacher Mrs. Bell. I recognized her from my church. Introductions were made and Lola was asked to make herself a name tag. Mrs. Bell noticed Gibby desperately squirming to get down and investigate. "And who is this?" I picked up a hint of iciness in her tone. "This is my baby Gibson" Lola proudly said. Mrs. Bell didn't ask in that "he's so cute I want to dunk him in my coffee" kind of way. Uh, was she irritated? I reserved my judgement to see what would happen next. "Do you mind if I put him down? There aren't any ramps or access for a stroller." Much too quickly she said it would not be a good idea and he might make a mess in the room and then "every parent would want to let their kids roam around." Wasn't that the point of this open house? The postcard I received in the mail said children and families welcome to pre register??!!!

With a dismissive turn she told her assistant to set Lola up with a project. OK, I thought, let's try this again. I asked how large her classes were what the kids were learning about. She was sitting near her desk and waved her hand over to another table. "There's a photo album and a book we put together about Chinese New Year." She genuinely seemed disinterested and was not making eye contact with me. With the photo album in my hand and Gibson in the other arm I asked if her classes were ethnically diverse. Not looking at me and with her hands on her lap, shrugged "I have no control over that." Without missing a beat I retorted "Of course, if that were the case I would ask you to tell me today's winning lottery numbers!"

By this point my blood was boiling and Gibson and I had had enough! Lola was coloring a picture and I said we had to go. Other parents had filtered into the room and Mrs. Bell was handing out name tags to be filled in. Among the chaos we slipped out. I could hear parents asking questions and children's voices from the hallway. We found the second class and tentatively walked in.

"We have a Lola, I've never had a Lola in my class before!" Lola looked down at her name tag and beamed at Mrs. Isles. "Welcome come on in, I see you already made your name tag." Mrs. Isles was enthused and eager to know us. I asked if I could let Gibson down and she held her arms out to him. He happily went to her and she set him up with crayons and paper at a little work table. She asked Lola where she attended pre school and what her interests were. She explained what her kids were working on and showed me a daily schedule they followed. She told me I could schedule a time to sit in on her class and observe or have open play with her students so Lola and even Gibson could join in for half an hour.

Later that evening I told Sean about our day. I mulled over my exchange with Mrs. Bell for a few days. I am not one to pull the race card. Fortunately, I've had positive exchanges in my community as a multi racial family. My town is not an ethnic hot spot but there is a percentage of African American families and Latino families. I did have one nasty comment from a woman in the grocery store, who asked if I was "babysitting" that little boy.

I phoned the school Principal and relayed my experience. Only later in my telling did I reveal Gibson's race. She listened and apologized and said somehow she would see to it that Lola would not end up in Mrs. Bell's class. Her professionalism and consideration was well appreciated.

Did Mrs. Bell discriminate against us, against Gibson, and ultimately against Lola? Was she just having a bad day? Were we the target of a frustrated teacher on her way to retirement? I think I will give her a second chance. I will schedule open play for Lola and Gibson in her class and see what happens.

Should Race Matter in Adoptions? - ABC News

2010-03-04T12:01:00.005-05:00

Should Race Matter in Adoptions? - ABC News

I have spent all morning Googleing this subject!!!!!! Watch the video. I have watched and re watched it several times today.

From my earlier posts you may have learned we adopted Gibson almost 2 years ago. His birthday is June 15th!!! He is a gorgeous mocha mix of African American and Puerto Rican heritage. Sean and I are "white." He is of Irish heritage and I am of Italian and German. There is a wee bit of African American in my lineage as well. I'm sure most of us have a wee bit as well if we investigate.

We did not set out to adopt a child of a different race. We simply wanted another child. I had a hell of a time conceiving. After several years we hit payday and Sean had to move his drum kit to the attic. We lost that pregnancy on a New Year's Day. I was five months pregnant and we had just picked out a name for our baby girl.
After several years of grueling fertility treatments we were blessed with success!!!!! Lola will be 5 this April.

Our doctors advised against another pregnancy but said it was ultimately up to us to try again. While pregnant with Lola, I was ordered to strict house bed rest for the last five months of my pregnancy. Needless to say, I was not up for that again and was truly afraid of more complications or worse, another lose. Adoption seems to be the perfect answer.

We took 12 weeks of classes to educate ourselves about fostering through the state. We knew there was such a need for these kids in our own backyards and felt this was how we wanted to do it. Our caseworker said "It's free to foster but expensive emotionally." We had no idea how emotionally draining this experience would be. The stories these children carried with them from foster home to foster home were horrendous and heartbreaking. Just like the few belongings they had in black garbage bags they carried them from place to place. These children were essentially damaged by their families.

Our experience with The Dept. of Social Services was not a positive one. We knew what we could handle. We did not want a special needs child or a child older than Lola. It seemed every panicked call received from DSS was in need of placing a special needs child with us immediately!!!! I felt horrible saying NO. Time and time again they would phone me at work and say there was a child who needed placed ASAP, but then the caseworker would never call back. Emotions were running high and patience was running low.

Then the call came. I left work an hour early. A child would be at our home for placement. He wasn't "legally free" for adoption. We were to foster with the hope of adopting him. The caseworker said there would be no way the mother would or could get him back. He was African American and about a year old. He had just learned to walk. He was incredibly clingy and cried constantly. He had a stomach bug and diarrhea. With only an hours notice, I borrowed a crib from Lola's daycare and went clothes shopping for him the next day. It was a rough couple of days. I learned from our caseworker he was kept tied in a crib for almost his first full year and his mother had tried to drown him several times in the bathtub.

Before the weekend was over, he was gone. A family member spoke up for him and he was off again. The caseworker came to pick him up and asked if I could make him some sort of lunch. "These kids never get to eat" she said. I remember making him peanut butter and jelly and packing a granola bar into a baggie for him. I had bought him a pair of little Converse high top sneakers. I watch those little sneakers being carried down my front porch. I couldn't look at him.

After taking a break for a year or so, we decided to permanently adopt. One door slams shut, and a window opens to usher in the spring air. Our story of adopting Gibson is miraculous. He was born on Father's Day of 2008. We along with about 7 other families had submitted photos and a biography to the birth mother. The hitch for us, we were notified the night before that she had signed papers giving up her parental rights. Other hopeful families had spent years perfecting their life stories on hand pressed paper and having glossy family portraits done to show. Our story was the last to be given to the birth mom. Sean drove the papers to the hospital 45 minutes away. He couldn't find our caseworker and was leaving in a panic when he spotted her with a baby in her arms in the parking lot. She was just handing over the baby to the foster grandmother. Sean got to see our Gibson that morning. Our caseworker Laurie stammered and looked embarrassed. It was fate that Sean saw him!

When we first talked about adoption we wondered if it would be complicated integrating a black child into our family. We were concerned about heritage and birthright. We wondered how Lola would feel having a black brother, how would they treat her at school? How would he be treated if he were attending a predominately white school? But what we really wanted was a child, a sibling for Lola, a completeness to our family. To sit in a booth at a restaurant. Two to each side!
Black, white, purple, red. He's a glorious boy with the widest, infectious smile. He adores his big sister and has to do everything she does. He has a great sense of humor and squeals when his "Dada" comes home from work. Gibson races our family dog to the front door to see Sean first!

It won't always be the fairy tale it now is. Will he feel he fits in? Will he resent his birth mother and not want that connection? Will he not want any of his cultures or want to deny his heritage? Who will his peers be? For us, for now, we want to celebrate who he is, to maintain his cultures, to support him, to be there for him, to listen, to celebrate who he is, our son.

Cafeteria Catholic

2010-02-17T18:32:00.004-05:00

I have to admit I am a Wishy Washy Catholic or better yet, A Cafeteria Catholic. I slid my heart and my logical thinking brian along the steel rails and peer over the sneeze guard. What looks good today? How do I feel about myself and God these days?
Interestingly, I think more about Jesus, the saints and Mary more than this "God." The whole Trinity thing is complex. Ok Jesus has Monday and Tuesday. Holy Spirit you can have Wednesday and Thursday and God; Friday, Saturday, and well, because you are God, you have dibs on Sunday.

I grew up in a very strict Catholic family. Rosary after dinner ( I don't really remember how long this lasted.) I just remember feeling odd and embarassed by it and wondering if any of my friends sat around the table with their families doing this? Mass every Sunday and of course the obligatory Holy Days. During Lent we had the cardboard bowl on our table. Operation Rice Bowl. Loose change from fasting during the 40 days of Lent was to be dumped into the bowl and then given to the church. Fasting, Almsgiving, Confession. All those big scary things a kid tries to wrap their wee intelelect around.

I remember giving up chocolate or trying to be nicer to my brothers or more helpful around the house. On Good Friday we would spend quiet time reflecting on the Passion of Jesus. For as long as I can remember that Friday was always dark and gloomy, inside the house and outside. I'm lounging on my bed, picturing the curtain in the sanctuary being torn in half, his Mother at his feet, those around Him realizing what they had done. Heavy stuff.

In college I stopped going to Mass. I thought for myself and was quite content being a "former" Catholic. It's not that I stopped believing, it's more like I wanted my independance, a tempting of fate, having no lightning bolts crashing upon me. I was lazy, sleeping in, wrapped in the arms of the man I was falling in love with.

That was then this is now. I took a path of self discovery and was re directed back to that path in some unexplainable supernatural ways. For now I can say there were voices involved and a gold rosary and a missing Miraculous Metal that found its way onto my bathroom rug after dissapearing several years earlier.

For the past 15 years I go to Sunday Mass. I participate in the Sacraments. Hell, I even venture to confession every so often (more so, than often.) My husband does not understand confession. He wonders what on earth I could possibly have done to warrant telling a priest. I won't say he's anti Catholic, he just is uncomfortable with organized religions in general. He's a great guy because he understands how important my beliefs are to me. He likes the person I am. Both of our kids are baptized Catholic. Though Sean says he doesn't want them believing in heaven and hell. These are battles yet to be fought.

I'm not a bible thumper, nor do I jugde others for their beliefs. I think there's room for discussion and I've always been open to other ideas and challenges. I'm not perfect and no one confuses this testament!!!!! I get pissed off pulling out of the church parking lot after Mass if someone cuts me off in traffic! While sitting in church I wonder what I'll make for dinner that night.

I know what's comfortable for me...... Maybe I should dive a little deeper into this and find a level not so comfortable, stretch myself a bit more. I want my kids to learn compassion, empathy, and charity. I want my kids to understand why Dad doesn't go to church. I think it's OK that his views are different from mine. We've had an amazing 20 plus years together, 11 of those in marital bliss (after he agreed to step into a Catholic Church to make it official!!!)

I'll leave you with a quote that pretty much sums it up for me "God; The more you chase him, the more you catch him."

Is It OK To Hate My Vacuum?

2010-02-09T10:07:00.003-05:00

I absolutely loath the new canister vacuum I bought last week!!!! I've had a Dirt Devil Upright for the past ten years and really had no complaints about it. Last weekend we were having some friends over for appetizers and drinks so I lugged out the ole girl to banish the dog hair and lonely remnants of Goldfish Crackers under the sofa.

I noticed the vacuum was spitting out small stones and grit instead of eagerly eating my fine tapestry of dog hair woven into my foyer rug. I unplugged it and turned it over to see if something had lodged into the beater bars. That's when I noticed all the bar bristles were gone, absolutely worn aways by years of use. CRAP!!!!!!

I had yet to whip up my crab cakes and make my crust for my blue cheese and onion tart. Company would be at the front door in under four hours!!!!! I wound the cord along the back of the vacuum and also noticed various spots where Newman had been chewing on it!!! He suffers from occasional chewing fits in the middle of the night (that only my highly attuned ears seem to hear!) and will sample rug fringe, cords from our wooden blinds and winter scarves not put in the hallway closet.

The vacuum had become a bit of a fire hazard I sadly thought. Now she'd given up the ghost and buying a new one was the last thing I felt like doing before guests arrived. In desperation I pulled out a smaller stick model and did the best I could. Thank God for lots of candles and mood lighting!

Last week Gibby and I drove to Target in search of another vacuum. I had done lots of research from consumer's posts and decided on a canister version this time. Prices ranged from high $500 for Dyson models to about $100 for a Dirt Devil canister model. I chose the Eureka Sideswept? Windswept? Sidesweep? We were in and out of Target in under an hour and $150 later. OK, I also picked up a cute Valentine shirt for Lola and socks for Gibby.

I must admit after putting Gibby down for his nap I was a bit giddy opening the box. My Christmas morning excitement turned sour as I pulled out the plastic red pieces. Wow, was it flimsy and cheap looking. I pieced it together and looked down doubtfully at it in its hooker red tawdriness. It had a bag instead of the dirt canister which I thought I might like this time, not emptying the dirt and breathing in all the residue. The compartment for the bag was small at best and I hadn't thought about the extra cost and pain in the ass of having bags on hand. Buyer's remorse was setting in.

After popping it together I plugged it in. Much quieter than my upright. It did suck up the dog hair, I plowed little carpet furrows back and forth, pleased with the suction. Several minutes into the job the hose kinked up, and kinked up again and again!!!! Stupid hose doesn't swivel from the canister base! I had to rely on picking up the base to unkink it and I cursed the design! The canister handle or grip or the pick up thingy was UNDER the front of the canister!!!!!! The plug wouldn't stay in the outlet and the cord could have been several feet longer.

Oh, I loathe this vacuum. I dug the box back out of the recycling and I'm repackaging it and taking it back!!! After I post my consumer thoughts about this model, I'll probably buy another Dirt Devil Upright; if they still make them, and it won't be the color red!!!!

Let Go

2010-02-05T10:45:00.005-05:00

Lola has quite the temper. She's incredibly verbal, leaps beyond her peers when it comes to expressing her displeasure. We've taught her it's OK to be angry about something and to say such, but we don't want to be willing participants in her physical and verbal meltdowns. We tell her to go to her room until she's ready to calmly join the family.

Last night she was telling Sean about some Looney Tunes Tweety Bird cartoon. I guessed he hugged her a bit too tight (poor neglected child) and she had a huge raging fit. "Daddy stop it!!! You're squeezing too too hard!!!!!!" Then like a whirling dervish she spun out of control and her whole body became red, fierce, and ridged. Her hands clenched into fists and tears were pouring down her face. She stomped out of the computer room, frightening Gibson and causing him to cry too.

"I'm so angry!" Sean and I looked at each other a bit bewildered. Gibson ran over to Lola and was petting her arm. Poor Daddy. I asked Lo what was wrong. She said Daddy always hugs too tight. I said Daddy works all day and doesn't have the luxury to spend as much time as he'd like to with her during the week. I told her he was showing his affection and was so glad to see her after a long day at work.

"Some days I'm just cranky OK! I'm having a hard day!" That was fine. It was the throwing of toys and pillows onto the floor from the sofa that I wouldn't tolerate. "Lola, picture your anger like a red balloon and hold out your hand." I gave her the imaginary balloon to hold. "Don't let go or it will float up to the ceiling and pop!" "What happens when it pops?" "That's when you let go of your anger." Lola said "then you hold it." I told her it was her anger and she was in charge of letting it go.

She told me I was silly and she let go of her imaginary anger balloon. "I need to go tell Daddy a secret, you stay here." She and Daddy made up over a bowl of microwave popcorn and more Bugs Bunny.

The Have and Have Nots

2010-01-29T15:12:00.002-05:00

I was scanning the local newspaper last night. Sean and I were unwinding from our days with a glass of wine. His days spent fighting The Suits and managing a staff feeling the despair of January and pep talking them into wrangling every penny out there to maintain every one's jobs. It really does come down to that. Budgets have to be met and exceeded. Everyone is being pushed harder and harder to squeeze what blood is left under that stone. My days are spent managing the home. Kids, cleaning, errands, groceries, cooking, finances, the usual Goddess stuff.

We're enjoying our second glass of Malbec as I turn the newspaper page. "Apple unveils iPad tablet-for $499!!!!!! The 3G models will sell upward to $829!!!!!! Who the hell would shell out that kind of money?????? Lots of people I guess. Supply and demand maybe? There are those that love these types of toys. Is it a must for a tech geek? A must for a busy professional? I love gadgets, but honestly don't even know my own cell phone number. I've not even bothered to learn how to set up my voice mail.

Adjacent to that story "Food aid falling short in Haiti." There was an AP photo of a woman in Port-au-Prince making round swirl patterns in the mud on a brick sidewalk. The photo was beautiful. A shadow of a woman falling over these repetitive concentric designs. In the corner of the photo was a skeletal dog sniffing the ground. I read the caption "Made of dirt, salt and vegetable shortening, these cookies were already one of very few options for the poorest in Haiti even before the earthquake." COOKIES? I looked at the photo again. This woman was baking cookies on the hot road. Cookies made of dirt!!!!!!!

My friend and I were discussing tragedy, earthquakes, floods, famine. We were sharing the idea that it's almost heartless to go about your daily business knowing so many suffer around you. Sean and I were wondering where to go for holiday this summer with the kids. We thought of a Disney cruise or maybe Club Med in the Dominican Republic. For the four of us with airfare...about 6-7 thousand dollars.

How do I balance all that I have when there is such a gap between the have and have nots? I sent money to the Haiti relief. It wasn't much, but I had to do something. We're thinking seriously about fostering a Haitian child and we've made some contacts. Some days it's too much for me to bear, watching CNN and seeing those children wandering the streets with a dead look in their eyes. If it is too much for me, how must it be for those trapped, homeless, orphaned, destroyed, torn apart?

So much of this misery happens here, in the States everyday, happens in our neighborhoods, on our own streets. We've decided not to do a big expensive vacation this year. We are going to visit Sean's brother in Maryland and spend time at the beach, getting too much sun, laughing lots, eating great food and sharing ourselves with family.

The most I can do is give to others when I can. Donate food to local pantries, hold the door for someone coming out of the gym, let someone go ahead of me in the grocery store line, not get pissed off when I let a car out in front of me and they don't wave a thank you. I need to remember to pray more, to count my blessings, to love my husband and kids more and more, to have patience, to just slow down and take each day as it comes, as it's meant to be....a gift.

A Horse Walks Into A Bar...

2010-01-20T18:07:00.005-05:00

I received a letter today from a former friend. I recognized the handwriting immediately. I've been thinking about her and how our relationship ended. She must have read my mind. She and I used to do that frequently, ending each other's sentences, saying something completely loony, out of the ball park as the other was thinking it. A kind of Johnny Carson, Carnac the Magnificent...but we were always on the same page, always.

We met at work. I immediately liked her. She had this head down, mop of hair in the eyes demeanor. She liked me too, which made me adore her even more. I had heard stories about her before she was hired. A manager had known her for 20 years and they were friends. I heard about her horrific childhood and how she became a ward of the state. I heard about the foster homes she had been in, and the abuse physical and mental she endured. She ran away often and had an alcohol problem. I almost felt cheated of a true friendship in those early stages. I knew so much about her, before she had a chance to tell her own story, in her own words.

From the moment I met her, drama was her second skin. Her mother was a pill popping, wisp of a woman who always needed money or her electric would be shut off. She had various doctors who "pitied" her and would in kind write prescriptions on a whim. Her mom phoned the store saying she had run over a garbage can on her way to the liquor store. At least she thought it was a garbage can. Her side view mirror was missing. I can't remember if the police were involved, but we all were.

She was so eager to be loved and to love. A double edged sword. She chose women to date. Over the past decade I knew her, she had three loves of her life, "this is the one" experiences. The first girlfriend I was introduced to was a tall brunette maybe 8 years older than Lee. They had been together for several years and already had a tumultuous "can't live without you or I'll die" union. Another story relayed to me, was the girlfriend was so angry at someone that she literally shit on that person's front porch. If I remember, there were accusations the girlfriend was cheating, and always had.

The second girlfriend was friends with some of Lee's other friends. They moved fast and furious and had an apartment together with in a few weeks. I had them over for dinner to get to know Barb. She clung onto Lee in a possessive, dog pissing on territory kind of way that made me uncomfortable. She was sullen and guarded during the dinner. Lee told me Barb didn't like me and was jealous of our friendship. There were so many warning signs, red flags we all saw. We would console her, give her advice, shake our heads and whisper.

Why do we choose the friends we choose? Usually we make friends with people we work with, an almost forced social situation. You learn to like, admire, or not tolerate certain people. It's a romance, a falling in love period. It's sharing intimate details and secrets. It's letting those know what makes you tick. It's being your most vulnerable, naked to that person.

My hesitation is letting someone know all of me. Maybe I don't want them to know my secrets, my quirks, my hangups? I don't want to reveal all of myself. Maybe this is why I don't have lots of friends. It is such hard work and I am quite selfish and greedy.

I ended my friendship with Lee because she let me down when I needed her most. I won't go into the gory details other than to say I was discriminated against at my former job and took my employer to court. She promised me she would go to bat for me. She had vital information and offered her full support. I dared not ask her, she offered, and I greatly wanted and needed her deposition.

As my lawyer and I were readying our paperwork, Lee panicked and backed out. She phoned me and with lots of pregnant pauses in our conversation could not bring herself to say she was scared. I was the one that said "You're not going to help me are you?" She asked if I was mad at her. I said no, just disappointed. That was over three years ago. I often think of her and her dogs, and the haphazard way she lived her life. I won my case, but lost my job and people I thought were my friends.

My husband asked "Well, do you want her back in your life again?" I'm not sure how to answer that question. I don't miss the sadness in her life. I don't miss the drama and the people who used her up and wanted more and more. I do have a handful of fun, carefree, wheezy laughter moments but maybe not enough to flesh out what I thought was our friendship.

I have yet to reply to her letter.

Michelle Has Left the Building

2010-01-17T12:36:00.008-05:00

I'm back. I can't explain why I've been away. I feel pulled in so many directions as of late. Remember the Sit 'N Spin toy? The round saucer base with the middle wheel and you climbed on and spun yourself around and around. Used to be fun. That's how I feel, but without that giddy kid "WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" at the end.

Maybe it's the post, now the holidays are over blues. The tree has been down and the new toys are upstairs in the kid's rooms. January feels well, like flavorless, stale, dirty snow January. I'm not sure why I'm booo hoooing. Let's make a list of crappy and not so crappy things lolling around in my upper hemisphere...

1. Every day passed is another day closer to Spring!

2. Every day passed is another day I've not scrubbed out the tub. Sure, I squeegee the walls down then follow with a spritz of vinegar and a good scrub. Yes I coat the tub liberally with Lysol's Scrubbing Bubbles, like readying a bake pan eagerly anticipating chocolate batter. It's that I can't commit to getting on my knees and really scrubbing with a brush! I will admit, some days it's just easier to close the door.

3. OK I'm bored with this numerical list, so I am going to just free form.

We all know about Haiti. The devastation is immense and overwhelming to me. I can't bear to watch CNN coverage anymore or see those children's faces. I contacted our adoption agency who became like family to us when we adopted Gibson. Sean and I talked about taking in a Haitian child, just to foster for however long we could. From what I've learned it's practically impossible to just get a child out of the country. There is no infrastructure, and an impossible single strip runway. There's the paperwork and legality behind fostering one of these children too. Many of the families won't be accounted for for weeks, months. In their culture, if possible, the children are then taken into relatives care. It seems like such a simple idea, send us an orphaned child and we will care for them as long as needed.

I then thought of the American families who were in the process of adoption before the earthquake. All the paperwork gone, lost. There are families so in love with these children already and may never see their families completed. Sadly, these children may not have survived. Pray Pray Pray.

Life continues, HAS to continue here. With all the loss and sorrow I still think about MYSELF!!! I've put on a few pounds over the past several months. It's pathetic I know, but a crushing blow to my self esteem and wardrobe. I'm a sniveling mess wrapped in brie and bacon. The pathetic meter is on overload!!

I just ordered Mastering the Art of French Cooking. I've always been a Julia fan, watching the show with my mom. Yes, I saw Julie and Julia. Meryl Streep genius in the role. Amy Adams, not a big fan. What the movie did do, and has done for many is put a flame to the pan for love of french cuisine. It really is a gorgeous book and many of the recipes I eagerly savor. I am a happy house wife when I'm all Zen like in my kitchen.

I've gone back to the Y. I've joined the masses of New Year Enthusiasts with their virginal squeaky sneakers and Rah Rah attitude. Thank God for iPods. I do like exercising and with it the sweating. Besides aching abdominals I get a sense of accomplishment. I then reward myself with a lovely basket of fish and chips drowned in malt vinegar.

Lately I'm feeling overwhelmed with parenting. I snap a bit too frequently at my kids and when they duck, my husband's head ends up on the platter. I need a hobby, better yet, I need to work again! I dreamt last night I opened up my own catering business and made mountains and mountains of Chicken Marsala with Marscapone cheese, Dijon mustard and mushrooms. I was just adding the fresh thyme when I heard Gibson cry in his sleep.

I really have nothing to complain about. My kids are fantastic, loving little beings who want the simplest of things from me; my attention. I'm able bodied, strong in mind and heart. I think I'll make my husband a fantastic meal of lamb chops in browned sage butter, mixed greens and butternut squash soup tonight. At the end of the day I'm truly happy we're together, the four of us. Pretty simple, as it should be.

Evolution for Three Thousand Please

2009-12-18T19:05:00.003-05:00

We drove to our favorite tree farm again this year. I'm still vacuuming pine needles and Easter grass from last years holidays! Lola and Gibson were excited, running all over the barn and into the banks of freshly plowed mounds of snow. We picked a tall thin tree for thirty bucks. The kids were given grab bags of candy and small trinkets.

The tree is decked, gifts are wrapped and in cold storage in our attic. Lola and I have been listening to Christmas music since the day after Thanksgiving. She is genetically predisposed to any and all things Christmas. She woke Saturday morning and asked "Can I not have cartoons and listen to Christmas music?" That's my girl!

I've noticed at night, as I tuck her in and help brush her teeth, she's growing so fast. Her looks are changing from chubby checks to refined nose and even more blueberry blue eyes. She's asking deep questions. "What color is Baby Jesus?" I guessed he may have olive toned or darker skin. "What are cavemen? Why do they carry those bones and say Unga Bunga?" I tried to explain about pre-man...."You mean we were born from cavemen?" The whopper was "What is evolution?" She stumps me, she really stumps me.

You'd Look Like Crap Too!

2009-11-30T10:10:00.004-05:00

My kids are champion sleepers. They need no rocking, patting, or seeing Mommy jumping through flaming hula hoops before they close their eyes and journey to slumber land....at least that's how it was until MONDAY NIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!

Gibson is now 18 months and mastering the art of communication with words, high pitched squeals, and some sign language. He typically takes two naps during the day, each at about a two hour clip. He's usually ready for bed around 8. When I ask if he's ready for nite nite, he walks to the stairs and points up, then waves at the dog. He has to have his Pup Pup and fleece blue blankie (a gift from his birth mom) and his paci....the Holy Trinity of baby sleep. He sleeps soundly through the night until Sean is showering the next morning. At around 7 or 7:30 Gibby wakes happy and jibber jabbering in his crib.

Then Monday dawned............................

He was overly clingy that day, wanting to be picked up and climbing into my lap at every chance. He would try and push the dog away from me and pull on my legs for attention. It was nice, having him in my lap and content with stories and picture books. His usual bedtime rolled around and he gathered Pup Pup, Blankie, and Paci and waved nite nite to all. I changed his diaper, dressed him in his jammies and gave him a kiss.

Lola was wrapping up her cartoons and coloring in the computer room and Sean and I were rewinding the day with a glass of wine. Not much later Lola was in bed after brushing her teeth and a story. I followed soon after with a book in hand and crawled under my comforters. Sean finished a movie and eventually the house was sharing a unanimous snore.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHH WAAAAHHHHHHHH AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!" I sat bolt upright in bed then pole vaulted across the hall into Gibby's room. He was screaming wildly and his nose was running. He was having such a fit that he moved his crib several inches down the wall. He had thrown all his stuffed animals onto the floor and lost his paci under his crib. I gave him back his beloved three, rubbed his back and closed the door behind me. He would have no such abandonment tonight! So, from 10 PM to 3 AM I rocked, patted, sat downstairs with him. I changed him again, gave him a sippy cup, again rocked, rolled, rubbed, soothed....Every time he returned to his crib he screamed bloody murder! I then did the unthinkable...I brought him into our bed so I could maybe sleep even for a few minutes.

We hold the belief that the kids should sleep in their own beds. At 2 AM nothing makes sense, so Gibby spent the greater last hours before dawn alternating between sleeping on top of me to scooting down to the end of the bed to squeezing between Sean and I and burrowing under the covers. No one really slept. Tuesday dawned and my parents would be visiting from Pennsylvania in about 8 hours. Somehow Lola slept through the entire night, thank God!

Tuesday was cleaning and pre Thanksgiving groceries. Not much was accomplished with a cranky 18 month old clinging to me. I felt like a mommy Orangutan! Around 4:30 my parents arrived from Pa. By Thursday night we were all fried by lack of sleep. Sometime around 2 AM my mother rocked Gibby to sleep after a two hour marathon. By Friday I knew I had to get serious or at least have all of us get some sleep.

I googled sleep patterns and babies and separation anxiety. My God, what scary information can be found with a few taps on the keyboard! So, I deduced he may be suffering from seperation anxiety. We tried a method recommended for babies who won't sleep on their own. I placed him in his crib in the routine he's accustomed to and shut the door. Of course he screamed! I was waiting for one of my neighbors to call the cops. We let him argue for about five minutes then I entered his room and patted him on the back. He was sooooo happy to see me! He grabbed Pup Pup and Blankie and thrust them at me, expecting to settle into his rocking chair again for the night. I said good night and closed the door. Screams lumbered down the stairs, angry loud why are you abandoning me screams...10 minutes went by and Sean went upstairs to soothe him. Again the door was closed, again those guilt inducing cries. 15 minutes, batter up, my turn. His cries were less demanding but still as heartbreaking. After about an hour, quiet, all was quiet......

It's amazing how smart babies and toddlers are. He may have realized his screams would bring us, but could not keep us in his room all night. I hope he knows we are there for him even at the slightest whimper. I hope he knows we love him and want only slumber wumber sleepy time for him. A well rested Gibson is a happy Gibson. A happy Gibson makes for happy well rested parents!!!!!!

Wasn't Halloween Just Last Week?

2009-11-20T10:33:00.004-05:00

It's that time of year. Lola wants, no needs, no HAS TO HAVE everything she sees on TV. "Mommy, can I have that?" The Christmas commercials are streaming into our living room. Pixos, didn't kids eat those and they caused a catatonic reaction a few years back? Might be an incentive to parents....hmmmmmm...... There are the Disney Barbies, the baby Disney dolls, the Barbie Camper with flushing toilet, the talking doll house with the British accent, The Easy Bake Oven! I had that! I remember the packets of cake mix, you added water and poured it into a little cake pan. You would slide the mix under a super hot light bulb and in a few minutes, a hot little cake! Everything is high tech. Now you can buy a frosting pen to decorate your cake. There's the candy jewelry design machine. You make candy necklaces, bracelets, and rings. Crunch crunch crunch. Let's visit the dentist for the new year!

Dora is grown up, a tween? You plug a USB cable into her butt and you can interact. There is the toddler bike you also plug into your TV. Somehow it teaches your kids counting, the alphabet, an interactive learning world where your little tyke peddles along and learns. I remember playing in the woods with my brother Joe. We built forts. We would run in open fields of Lazy Susans before the neighborhood was built up. We would play cars in the dirt piles at the end of our dead end road. We would collect berries and mash them and make soup in our Mom's old mismatched Tupperware bowls. We would ride our Big Wheels for hours. When it was time for lunch, our mom would lean out the patio door and ring a bell. We would hear it tinkering and abandon our pirates play.

The impending holidays make me homesick, nostalgic for a simpler time. There's that indescribable day, the air is just right, the dusk just settles, and it FEELS like Christmas. It happens to me every year. It a crack, a peek, a small glimpse of magic. It's like a celestial portal that I just happen to be attuned to. The heavens open and feathery drifts of snow gently fall. It's a spark that gets me excited, stirs my kid wanderlust.

I have this urge to shop, wrap, make holiday lists. I'll unbox all my holiday CDs and begin listening to them in the car. I'll dust off my recipe books and muse over cookie recipes, I'll go online and drool over Epicurious and Food Network. I eagerly await the Norelco Shaver commercail with the Santa gliding over the show. I get teary eyed over the Time Life Boxed Collection of holiday classics. Everytime a bell rings, an angels gets his wings. I look forward to the Christmas songs we sing at Mass. Lola and I will make another gingerbread house this year. We'll visit Santa and have holiday photos taken for a Christmas card. I already see Gibson tearing ornaments off the tree.

Thanksgiving is only a few days away. I should verify my turkey order and clean the house. Maybe I'll treat myself today and the kids and I will watch It's A Wonderful Life. The laundry can wait.

Fickle Facebook Fascination

2009-11-05T09:17:00.003-05:00

It's finally happened.....I've fallen out of love with Facebook!

Of course it was fun at first, the reconnecting of old high school mates, seeing how everyone has gained weight and lost hair, gained children, step children, pets, mortgages, real jobs, real worries.

It was fun to post pictures of my children, my husband, smugly laud the fine attributes of the town we live in. The many highbrow colleges, plentiful arts and roster of hipsters, writers, poets, and rock starts who we rub elbows with.

I log in every few days to reconnect with maybe three or four of my fifty plus "friends." I really don't give a rat's ass about how my high school chum, who isn't anything like the fun girl I remember my senior year, runs 5.9 miles in under three minutes. I'm not fascinated with my friend who now lives in Tokyo who photographs strippers for a living. FACEBOOK UPDATE.....he now has a job as a photographer for The New York Times. I'm bored with school photos of Johnny's first day with his new backpack waiting for the "big boy bus." Thank God no one pokes anyone anymore. That was annoying!

I log into my e mail and most of it is Facebook sludge. I don't post photos of my kids anymore or what we do on the weekends as family. Sean says photos of his kids floating in cyber space is creepy. Sure, my photos are under privacy view for just a few friends. Do we really know who has access to my pictures?

Want to know something else disturbing? If I log onto my Facebook page, there's a certain someone who chats immediately with me. I hear that little "pop" sound and there is this person in the lower right hand corner of my screen wanting a bit of cyber affection. The other day I received a friend request from a high school pal. She was sleeping with my boyfriend and she didn't know I knew. I broke up with that boyfriend. They married several years later. He died of a heart attack in their third year of marriage. I hold no bitterness toward her. She did me a big favor, I just don't want to reconnect with her and share her sadness.

I think today if I have a moment, I'm going to delete most of my "friends." I know there will be sadness, crying, wondering why, why, why? There will be no instant thoughts of what I'm doing right now, what I'm making for dinner, what cute antics the kids are up to. No one will know I'm on my third cup of coffee, that I've submitted several stories for publication, that we're planning a family cruise.

At last it has happened, I have fallen out of love with Facebook.

Her First Library Card

2009-11-05T09:04:00.003-05:00

My little girl is growing up......FAST!!!!!!!!! Everyday she is seeking and gaining more independance. We walked to the library the other morning. I thought she should have her own library card. She thought that was the "best idea in the universe!" The librarian filled out some paperwork and then handed her a yellow laminated card with a sketch of the library on the front. Lola was beaming! She loudly proclaimed "now I feel so accomplished!" She told me I could check out any book or DVD I wanted to with her card. Then she said we should go to the grocery store and buy groceries with her new library card. The mind of a four year old, what a glory to behold!

ER Adventures

2009-10-23T09:50:00.004-04:00

Lola has come down with a lovely case of the croup! She was barking and coughing. She and I made a visit to the ER Tuesday around 3:30 in the morning. I had been sleeping with her, to keep an eye on her breathing when I noticed she was struggling for air. Sean carried her to the car. She was not happy to say the least. "Why are you guys doing this to me? It's the middle of the night for crying out loud!"

To change the subject and keep her calm I asked her what she thought our neighbor's cat Moe might be up to. Her salty reply "Probably sleeping." There were no other shooting, stab wound or swine flu victims waiting. We were the only ones. Lola settled in to watch a Rosanne rerun as I gave her information to the desk attendant.

We were shown to a room and her temp was taken. 99 degrees as it had been all day. The nurse switched on the Disney Channel and we cozied up together in the bed. "Mom, are there shots here at the dentist?" I told her this was not the dentist, but the hospital where she was born. She wanted to know why we weren't seeing her doctor. Because it's the middle of the night, or morning, or I smell coffee and I need a cup!

As we are waiting for the doctor I realize how tired I am. Adrenaline coursed through my body and now I'm coming down. My knees are knocking and I just might ask for a cup of that coffee. My baby, my sweet, sweet baby. Everything is OK. A case of croup and the doctor gives her an oral steroid to help her breathe. The doctor is yawning. I wonder how his day has been.

"Mom, can we stay here all night? I like this cartoon." She's comfortable and has enjoyed the attention of the nurses. She amazes me, this child. I was impressed with her maturity and curiosity. She viewed this as an adventure. That's what I told her it would be, trying to get her into the car. "We'll have a little middle of the night adventure, just you and me, OK?"

We were home by 4:30. Still dark, no porch lights on, no street lights to signal the beginning of another day. We watched another cartoon on the sofa, in the dark. "Mom, I'm ready for bed, I'm tired." "Guess what little lady, you get to stay home from school for another day." Her smile was so bright it lit the way to her room.

I Think I Vacuumed Up My Marbles

2009-10-19T18:17:00.004-04:00

"I think you're losing your marbles sometimes!" Sean said this to me in the most serious tone. We were gassing up the car for a six plus hour drive back to Pennsylvania for a family wedding. Lola was digging into her bag of crayons and coloring books and Gibson was entertaining himself with his Pup Pup Blanket.

"Didn't we talk about this just a few weeks ago?" Sean asked the gas attendant to fill the Volvo with medium grade gas. "Regular is fine." I said. "Michelle, you don't use regular. It even says so in the manual. How long have you been using regular!?" I felt like an idiot. The attendant gave me side glance as he squeegeed the front window.

From the backseat, "Daddy it's OK, Mommy can use the gas she wants and you can use your gas." Lola, always the diplomat. I use regular grade. It's ten cents cheaper. Mia Culpa!

Some days I do think I'm losing my marbles. I've gotten out of a schedule. I have my mom schedule. I do that in my sleep. I miss the good old days of going to work, getting dressed, putting on makeup, thinking about a great outfit to wear with heels, get in your car and drive, paycheck kind of work schedule.

I had an eight o'clock doctor appointment this morning. At least I thought it was this morning. I woke Lola and hurried her into her clothes, brushed her teeth and hair and we were out the door and on our way to school. With five minutes to spare I arrived at the medical building. I gave the receptionist my name and doctor name. He looked perplexed. "You scheduled this when?" Sometime last week for allergy troubles. "Well, it looks like you're early. About a week early. Your appointment is for Monday the 26th." Expletives went off in my head, a real fire cracker Fourth of July kind of pop, explode tirade of curses.

I arrived back home within 20 minutes. Sean was dressed for work and feeding Gibson scrambled eggs. "My appointment is for NEXT Monday." I sat down with a cup of coffee. Poor Lo, I rushed her out of the house frantic so as not to be late for a non existing appointment with a doctor I see maybe twice a year. Sean suggested I keep a daily planner so I don't "lose track of my days." "I don't lose track of my days, I know perfectly well what day it is!" He made it sound as if I spend my days in a TV induced, hazy swell of pajamas and cheap paperbacks, lounging on the sofa, leering at the park maintenance men when they mow the common.

It's Tuesday, or wait Wednesday? I have to take the car in for service. There's a funky smell and I think the air filter needs changed. The furnace guy is coming for yearly maintenance and I need to touch base with our squirrel guy and make sure our attic is pest free. I have to call a party rental place for a helium tank for Lola's Halloween party and make a call to Newman's vet to have his Prozac filled. The kid's rooms need cleaned and sheets off the beds to be laundered. I have clothes to drop off at the Salvation Army Thrift Store. I vacuumed yesterday but it still looks like a bomb went off in the living room.

Daily planner....I don't need no stinking planner!

Old Girl, Old School

2009-10-19T09:44:00.003-04:00

I have a cell phone. I have a cell phone I hardly ever use. I have a cell number. I have no idea what it is. It's written down somewhere on some assorted dry cleaning ticket in the bottom of one of my handbags. Whenever I'm filling out paperwork I leave that blank....well....blank.

My husband has a cool phone. Square, sleek, internet access. "Ooooh, I want one!" Most days it's like a cement block around his neck. On the weekends it rings, buzzes, vibrates on the kitchen hutch.

I signed up for internet banking several months ago. I've been a To The Penny checkbook balancer from way back. I like writing in the columns, using decimal points, having everything come out as it should. I've been told this is "old school." Annoyed tellers on the other end of the phone suggest I sign up for online banking and blah blah blah it's so convenient. I'm told I can even pay my bills online, eliminating the need for bothersome envelopes and stamps.

I sign up. I log on. I'm ready to pay my bills through some ethernet cables and tin cans and string and monkeys on either end who will transmit my electronic funds to God knows where. None of my existing accounts show up on screen. I call the bank. For mortgage dial 2. For access to loans and equity lines of credit dial 3. I just keep pushing zero. "Hi, I signed up for on line banking and am having a problem paying some of my bills?" "Well, shouldn't that information already be there?" "Oh, I have to manually type in the payees and their addresses?" Well that's not very convenient!

I'm back to buying stamps at the post office and sitting in front of my computer writing out checks.

Puppy Love

2009-10-15T12:01:00.011-04:00

I am a crying, sniveling mess. It's a chilly afternoon and I've spent two precious hours watching the movie Marley And Me. It's rare I watch TV in the afternoon. The blare of the screen and many talking heads is depressing. I might as well stay in my pajamas, cozy up with a nice aerosol can of processed faux cheese and turn on the gas oven. But for some reason I ignored the laundry and unpacking of the suitcase from our weekend in Pennsylvania and turned on the tube for escape.

I had missed about 20 minutes of the movie. Owen Wilson and Jennifer Aniston as a couple who fall in love, have this whirling dervish of a puppy, and face the challenges of raising children and building their lives together. The glue of the story is Marley. He chews, slobbers, eats everything and anything. Just when they've had enough he does something more destructive thus more endearing to them and the audience. Cue the strings and the audience says "awwwwhhhhhhh."

This is not my type of Hollywood fluff. I'm a movie snob who avoids at all costs most stuff for mainstream movie goers. I forget that movies are entertainment. I need to be less serious about such stuff.

So the couple suffer an early miscarriage then fast forward to a baby, a job promotion, Marley failing obedience school, humping poodles, terrifying babysitters, more kids on the way. There is the realistic arguing tired parents go through. The resentment of "giving up" things in your life. The changes endured, the loss of and wonderful gain, the push and pull of everyday life. Some of the dialogue I could actually identify with.

I knew or half heartily guessed the outcome of the movie. Marley ages and not gracefully. Our knucklehead of a dog is turning the page on this chapter in his life. Newman, Newberman, Nut Less Wonder, Scooby Doo, Captain Grey Beard. He's been in our family since he was a pup. His history, his geneses is stuff of Hollywood.

He was a carny dog. He traveled with a carnival that had made a stop in a small Pennsylvania town where our families still live. Sean's brother agreed to take the puppy after a friend said she had the dog but could not keep him. She knew some of Newman's past. After being rescued from the carnival, some kids kept him in their backyard shed for about three weeks. He was supposed to be a secret from the parents. That secret was bored with being kept in the dark. Sean's brother named him Newman after Mad Magazines Alfred E. Newman. He's a motley mix of Shepherd, Black and Tan Hound, and another large breed whose utterance of their name sends small children running to the house for safety.

Newman's stay with Ryan was a happy one. They would camp outdoors and share Chinese take out together. They were brothers. Ryan met and married. A baby was on the way and Newman had to go. He stayed a bit with Sean and Ryan's mother. He kind of became the relative that was entertaining, always good for a story, and funny when he was drunk (sometimes?) But he wore out his welcome there. Here's a one way ticket to Massachusetts Newman!

Ryan brought him on a sunny autumn weekend. I still remember Ryan sitting on the front porch devastated that he had to give his first love away. Newman sat at our front door for two days, waiting for him to come back. Our cat was not happy to have him in her house. The scratches and nail marks on our freshly refinished floor bears the story of the first few months. I wasn't exactly thrilled to have a large dog with an even larger tail in our home. One sway of that tail and he would clear off our coffee table. That Christmas I had no ornaments survive the lower branches. Oh and he had separation anxiety. We found this out after coming home from Ireland. He ate three sets of antique french doors. Really ate them! He ate basement steps. He ate through a metal fence meant to keep him from harming himself. He ate rugs, window blinds and sashes. Prozac has remedied much of his behavior.

I remember the first week he was in our home. I was lying on the floor in front of the fire. He curled up beside me and laid his head on my stomach. I was part of the pack. When I was pregnant with Lola and on five months of strict bed rest, he was my constant shadow never leaving my side. "Oh you'll have problems with him and a new baby in the house." That's all we heard from those who thought they knew Newman. I brought her hospital cap home and let him sniff before we brought Lola in. He didn't seem impressed. That first week the mailman came to the door and Newman sounded the alarm and ran to the top of the stairs not budging. Lola was asleep upstairs in her crib.

He's dug huge craters in our backyard, destroyed doors, steps, and carpeting, bolts out the backdoor at every chance he gets. He's antagonized the neighborhood dog walker because he knows she doesn't like him. A substitute mail carrier absent mindedly left a warning card with our mail a few years ago. " Alert, aggressive dog at this mailing address." He's heard "stupid dog" more than once from me. He has never bit anyone and plays well with others. Our kids take toys and food out of his mouth without even a snarl. He is the best stupid dog as I scratch between his eyes on that special spot on his nose and rub his silky ears between my thumb and finger. He opens one bleary eye woken by my affection.

He's 13 or 14 now, we never know. For several years in a row we said he was 10. It felt like a fitting age for his behavior. When the day comes we've talked of cremation. Everyone in the family would like a memento of Newman. His back legs are weak and he can't jump into the back of the Volvo. Some nights we hear him coming up the stairs, like a gimpy old man with laboured wheezing. When he makes it to the top he sleeps in Lola's room as tight against her bed as he can. Some nights he doesn't have the strength to make the climb. We know the day is coming and we're not sure what we'll tell Lola. What we tell ourselves? For now we're a family with two great kids and a knucklehead of a dog who we love.

Tears And Fears Of A Parent (or should I buy it to shut her up?)

2009-10-14T19:50:00.005-04:00

I had two stops to make before I picked Lola up from daycare. Red wine for the beef soup and butternut squash and fresh thyme was also on my list. I had planned on doing both before getting Lo. Time was not on my side. I stopped at the wine store for the red and looking at the clock in the car, decided to head to the grocery store after procuring my precocious blondie.

Lola is spoiled. Hard core spoiled. It's my fault. She's a loving, compassionate, creative, affectionate manipulator who can get her way with a bat of her dark lashes and pursed ruby cherub lips. On a whim I pick up coloring books, stickers, things that give her face that "Oh mommy, I love you!" glow. I grew up not dare whining or pouting at the grocery store surrounded by eye level metal row upon row of the most amazing magical candies. I remember at a party my parents were hosting saying "When I grow up, I'm going to buy my own Cheetos Corn Chips!"

I illegally procured a pack of Life Savers grocery shopping with my mother. I may have been 5. I sat in the back of her Chevy Malibu happily unwrapping the candy. I was promptly marched back to the store and made my heartfelt apology to the store manager.

I buckle Lola into her seat and tell her we have to stop at the store for just a FEW things. She skips alongside the cart as we roll down the isle. "Can I have a Crunch Bar?" NO. "Mommy, please I beg you, have mercy, just a doughnut?" NO! Her voice notches up a few decibels. "Mom, just a Munchkin and I promise I won't ask anymore!" This high stakes bargaining from a 4 year old.

Tears are streaming down her face. She's starting to break out into hives on her cheeks. I tell her through gritted teeth "Mom says no, you can't have a snack every time we go somewhere. I said no and I don't want you to ask me again." Her whiny reply "But Mom, you always buy me something!" Yes, I've stepped in a steamy pile of it this time. "Lola, listen to Mom, If I buy you something special every time we go shopping then it won't seem special anymore."

People are giving me "that look." That look when a kid is being a brat and making a spectacle of her mother. I wore Sean's old sweatshirt and hadn't brushed my hair since 7:30 this morning. I may have looked a bit haggy, adding to my mean mommy mystique. The looks I was getting from the produce boy made me believe I was poking her with a hot stick.

Gibson is now crying because Lola is crying. I take a few deep breaths and grab the Worcestershire sauce and grated Pecornio Romano Cheese. Why do I take her tantrums personally? Why do I engage her in a verbal throw down. Voices of my mother come out of my mouth, all unhinged and booming. I must remain calm. Oh crap, I forgot the beef broth!

We make it to the check out isle. Gibson is pulling quarters and pennies from a donation cup on the counter. "Why can't I get anything?" She spies a Nick Jr magazine. "Can I have this?" No. I feel calm and in control. Her pitiful mewing is bouncing off my cold cold heart. As we walk out we pass the in store bank. I think maybe I'll grab her a lollipop. No, that would defeat my purpose. Not every trip to the store should result in a prize, toy, or candy just because she's gnashing and wailing.

She's still fussing in the backseat but the storm has past and just a few tears remain. I offer her a mini raisin bagel and milk as an after school snack with a side of SpongeBob. Gibson is having strawberries. "Mom I just want a huggie. I'm sorry I was hard at the store." Does she realize she was? Is she just mimicking what I have said to her? Does she understand how much I love her and want to see her as a happy kid, teen, well adjusted adult? I'm getting ahead of myself. She just wants to climb into my lap and have her back scratched and watch her cartoons.

Boo To YOU!

2009-10-06T18:23:00.007-04:00

I'm actually hosting a kid's party at my house! We haven't had a birthday party for Lola yet that her friends have attended. Halloween is one of my favorite holidays, I can't name a holiday I don't like really. The fall season creates this need in me to cook more, bake more, and just celebrate!

I asked Lola if she wanted to have a Halloween party for some of her friends. "Really, here at my house with friends? Will there be cake?" That's always her barometer of a good time. Cake.

Well, that was settled. A party! I was on a pre party planning high! Then lying in bed that night I realized what I'd done. Oh crap! I'd have to have people over, have food, games, drinks, worry about kids spilling food and drink on my furniture, wondering if there would be enough room for the kids and parents, thinking of making a cake, double crap...I should make a pinata....I have to buy more Halloween decorations, candy, maybe a costume for me?

Lola ran through the litany of what she wanted to be for her party. First she wanted to be a mummy! I was soooo excited! I would make her the coolest mummy costume, wrap gauze and cheese cloth all over her, do some crazy mummy-ish make up on her face. Then she chose a princess. Bummer. I wanted more creativity for her (OK for me.) Then she found a photo of a sexy vampiress with ghoulish cleavage bursting out of her corsetted top. "Mom, this is who I want to be!" following me around the kitchen. I suggested we keep looking at costumes. She has finally settled on being a vampire bat girl. The costume arrived the other day. I hung it on her armoire door. She asked me to take it down last night. It was frightening her when she slept. Jackpot!

While Gibson naps, I've been working on her pinata. My intention was a ghost. The balloon lent itself more to a gruesome gourd, a sinister squash, a peevish pumpkin? A pumpkin it is! I love the feel of the flour paste and smooshing the goop off the newspaper strips. Very therapeutic. The smell reminds me of being a kid. That's probably why I love this holiday so much. You can pretend, dress up, make believe, eat candy, watch scary movies, enjoy the crunch of fall under your feet while admiring the moon, the air has a certain smell too of burning leaves, ghosts, incense, spirits releasing into the air.

I should rent a card table for the kid's crafts and pumpkin painting. Maybe rent extra chairs for musical chairs. I bought a CD of spooky screams, cat howlings, and creaking doors. This will be fun! I need to narrow down my menu. My first thought was quiche and Bloody Marys for the grown ups. Yes, I am having adult beverages. For some reason this seems taboo at kid's parties? Sure cake is great, but libations are a crowd pleaser! Pizza and a spider web cake for the kids...and I'll have a plate of fresh veggies and fruits to balance the corn syrup induced comma the kids will willingly slip into.

I'll wager a bet there will be carrot sticks and strawberries left over. Oh the horror!!!!

The Squirrels Are Driving Me Batty!

2009-10-02T18:32:00.004-04:00

It's late evening and I'm trying not to listen to the desperate squeaks and chirps from the trapped squirrel above me. Two neighborhood cats are sniffing around the house. They too hear the squirrel.

We've been plagued by these pest the past few weeks. They've decided our attic is better habitat to raise their young than say, the trees or woods behind our house. Now there's a family just above Lola's bedroom. I've heard them mid afternoon while putting her laundry away or early morning, if she's had a dream and can't fall back to sleep. I'll lie with her and we listen to them. Their tooing and froing. They've developed a taste for my art books and stacks of old photos. Mama and her babies make such a racket as if they're installing a hot tub on the roof! The other morning I actually thought someone was in my attic moving boxes around. I grabbed a chunk of copper pipe and a tennis racket. What would I do if someone were up there? I hadn't figured it out that far....

I called the squirrel guy again. Honest to God, this man eats, breathes, and sleeps rodent removal. At $485 a pop, he should! He's been bitten many times, fallen off ladders, fallen into lakes, ponds, people's driveways. He deals with the above mentioned as well as raccoon, woodchucks, skunks, all the woodland creature that look so fat and cuddly in children's books sitting together around a campfire sharing Smores, telling ghost stories.

Today he climbed to the third story and set traps outside the corner of the roof. He stuck his hand in a small hole the mama had made. "Yup, they're in there!" He quickly drew back his hand before mama could have a mid morning munch of human. She had shredded some books and photos for her nest. I told Tom I saw the mama push two of the babies out the corner of the roof and watched them plop to the ground below. Tom said this is not typical behavior. His theory: another mama squirrel may have her eye on this cozy corner.

So I'm trying not to listen to the sorrowful, panicked squeaks. I've learned quite a bit about squirrel behavior from Tom. When we first hired him for "removal" last fall, he said there's no such thing as squirrel relocation. If let loose in a nearby field they always find their way back to their nest. Or in our case, back to our attic. I pictured a bunch of little squirrels huddling together behind some speak easy hoping not to be found out, turned in, by say a rat. There would be grainy black and white photos of them surfacing with black bars over their eyes to protect their identity.

Latest count, we've caught two youth and I think it's the mama squirrel who will soon join them. I made a call to Tom's cell and hoping he'll make quick work of it.

Hey Stop! What's That Sound?

2009-09-21T13:34:00.004-04:00

Just back from a walk downtown with Gibby in the stroller. Sad to see so much trash along the way. I found a 1% milk carton cap, a crushed, empty Newport Cigarette pack, an empty Reese's Peanut Butter Cup wrapper, an empty Planters Honey Roasted Cashews wrapper, a Conair Pop Up Brush with mirror SKU tag, a torn pamphlet about class 2 and 6 toxic material(?????,) a Goodies Pizza receipt: someone ordered a small Pepperoni pizza $7.25, a combo sampler $6.50, and cheese fries $4.75 and payed for it with a Visa ending in 4217, and lastly a calling card from Mexico with amazing graphics of a Mariachi band on the front. The only reason I scooped these up is to make a "found art" collage from it.

Today was a gorgeous, sunny, squinty kind of day with lots of people out and about. I noticed a crowd of people in front of the local community college. Some were kids on bikes, others professionals out for smoke breaks. As I got closer I noticed a pair of large white scuffed sneakers and a Styrofoam tray of french fries spilled on the ground. The sneakers were attached to a woman sprawled on the sidewalk. She was half propped up against the building, her graying blond hair caught in the scratchy brick surface. Her glasses were down around her chin. Everyone seemed calm. I asked a kid on a bike if she was OK? "I think she fainted, I don't know man." Another guy pointed up the street to a parked police car. "Hey Andre, there's a cop, I'll tell him." Lots of people were now gathering around. I saw the man cross the street and walk over to the cruiser. I continued up the street and heard an ambulance on its way.

The door opened as I walked past Bart's Cafe. A man was walking side by side with me. I recognized his Ostrich cowboy boots from yesterday. Sean, the kids and I had been at a wine and beer tasting festival the day before. Sean saw someone he knew, introduced us and walked over to speak to them. One of these people was the man with the great boots. I was going to comment on his boots and tell him we'd met yesterday but the tinkling, twinkling sound of chimes stopped me. I wondered where they were coming from. They sounded as if they were following me. It couldn't be a ring tone could it?

I noticed the man had a shirt folded over his other arm. Under the shirt, the mysterious chimes. He cut down the alley between Greenfield's Market before I could say hello or inquire about the chimes.

Gwyneth Paltrow Feels Good

2009-09-17T09:25:00.002-04:00

Gwyneth Paltrow Feels Good — and So Can You

Posted using ShareThis

First, I love this collage. It's probably digi, computer generated but still really interesting. Second, I really can't stomach (ha, funny, yes!) this woman. She can't (in my humble, biting opinion) act her way out of a torn, wet paper bag. She thinks vacationing and eating her way through Spain with Mario Batali, then purging her exquisite meal in a back alley behind a charming little villa, to be oh so very very Hollywood.

Yeah, I know, lay off the three cups 'O Joe.

Anywhooo....great Esquire article I thought worth sharing. Now I'm going to finish Lola's Happy Meal from three days ago and wash it down with a V8 Champagne spritzer.

But Why?

2009-09-16T09:19:00.002-04:00

Why can't life be a warm slab of brie with balsamic splashed on top. A few wheat crackers on the side and lots, lots, of champagne?

Why can't life be fresh flowers in a crystal vase by the bedside table?

Why can't life be lots of friends, really tried and true friends who you can sit in comfortable silence with?

Why can't life be a good book, not wanting to finish the last few pages because you don't want it to end?

Why can't life be a shopping spree, where everything you find is fabulous, fits, and is on sale?

Why can't everyday be a hand written letter from a long lost love who begs for your forgiveness?

Why can't everyday be a ride in the convertible, top down, Yo La Tengo blaring through the clouds, wind in your hair?

Why can't we know then what we wish we could learn now?

Why should color matter, unless you're admiring a rainbow?

Why can't we use the word "dislike" instead of hate when referring to opinions?

Why can't air, water, grass, the pursuit of happiness be free for all?

I Remember

2009-09-11T10:08:00.006-04:00

Today is just another day. Rainy, damp, Gibson is down for his 10am nap. Lola is having a play picnic in the living room with a few of her favorite dolls. Lots of goldfish and chocolate chips on little pink plastic plates atop a blanket on the floor.

9/11. I wasn't thinking about it today. But yes, I remember. I was driving to work. A gorgeous sunny, open sky kind of day. I was listening to the new Bjork CD. I had the sunroof open. I took exit 21. I was meditating, praying, thanking God for this gorgeous day, for the job I was going to, even though I was feeling boredom and suffocation there, just being in the moment, feeling almost chemically high with happiness.

I pulled into the parking lot, the music so loud inside my car. A group of my coworkers was clustered around an other's truck, all the doors open. I thought maybe they'd all forgotten their keys and were waiting to get inside. "No, I didn't hear?" I turned on NPR. Four or five people climbed into my car. The truck beside me was still running, all doors open and the radio still on. It felt like a carnival ride that throws you from side to side. You feel like you're going to vomit, then it comes to a crashing stillness and your insides are still urged to swing to that momentum.

We went inside. Found a radio and continued listening. No one turned on lights or reset the alarm. Two customers wandered in. They hadn't hear either. We told them what we knew. Details were sketchy and the worst was yet to come. They left the store speechless, in slow motion.

None of us knew what to do? This was all so new? Real fear. Attacked on our turf. New York City? I called Sean at work. He didn't seem rattled. I was scared, really scared. He was busy and had to go. I called my mom. I ran to the upstairs showroom with the phone. She was relieved to hear from me. She thought maybe I was in the city for some reason, a buying expedition for the showroom. "No, mom, I'm here at the store. What the hell happened? I'm scared. I'm going to cry."

My sister lives in Jersey. I had a few friends who lived in New York. The office manager had a small portable TV. We watched grainy images of the second tower going down.....Customers were coming into the store to buy furniture. Didn't they realize? It's like shopping on Good Friday at three o'clock. You just shouldn't do it, it's disrespectful.

I don't remember the rest of the day. I just remember being really really afraid. I'd never felt this unstable, this fear of "being attacked." I remember watching CNN for hours, for days. The horrible stories, people jumping out windows, rolling gray dust, debri clouds chasing people down the streets. Ticker tape falling noiselessly down, shards of glass, raining confusion. People running, hiding under parked cars.

A few days later a life support helicopter flew over our house from the hospital a few blocks away. I heard the above noise and literally threw myself down on the living room floor, crawling away from the windows. Panic. Soon, I couldn't watch the news, couldn't rewatch again and again the images.

In early October Sean's mom had come for a visit. We had planned on going to NY for the weekend. These plans and hotel reservations had been made two months before. She wanted to see the site. We did not. I remember an argument in the cab. We felt like dirty little tourists, wanting to see the train wreck. I was embarrassed to be there. The cab could only take us so far to the financial district. We walked the rest of the way. Store fronts were blown out. Pristine folded stacks of Brooks Brothers shirts were still on display tables, covered in deadly gray dust. Glittery shards of glass were still everywhere, a dew kissed reminder, still untouched by cleanup crews. Store fronts were raped, gashed open, everything still in its place. I was amazed no one had stolen these things?

Fences were covered, blotted out with images of lost people. Their photos loomed everywhere. Bios of them were fluttering, smacking against metal making tap tap noises. Why was it so quiet in the busiest of all cities that all I could hear was paper blowing against a metal barricade? I felt I was stepping on people, on bodies.

They had dressed for work that morning, or were running errands, or dropping their kids off at school, or were meeting or awaking from a tryst with their lover. Were kinds words said to each other the night before? Was a memorable meal shared, glasses of wine drunk, tips left at tables? Was someone so desperate, alone in that too large city, thinking of taking their life? Had someone just received news they were pregnant? Excited to share the news? Was someone going bankrupt, filing for Chapter 11 that next day? News of cancer, of an incurable disease? Someone had finished the last sentence to the last chapter of a book, rushing to the publisher? Was someone late for the train, flat tire, out of gas? Had someone cut somebody off in traffic, given them the finger? Stolen a magazine from the corner store, wished they didn't have to get out of bed and go to work?

Wishing somehow today could be different?

Something, Anything

2009-09-10T10:50:00.002-04:00

I've had a bit of writer's block lately, and have been away. I've suggested to myself that I should at least write something, anything...I started another blog to release some of my mental asides. LETSHAVEALOOKSHALLWE.blogspot.com

I'm sitting in front of you having a dish of scrambled eggs with an exuberant amount of Swiss cheese melted inside. Yum! Two cups of coffee.

I don't believe in aliens, although there's lots of abduction evidence out "there." Why would God create a being far more intelligent than us? Why would they kidnap us and probe us? Ouch.

Why don't parents serve alcohol at kid's birthday parties? I'm sorry, but a piece of cake just doesn't do it for me.

Now I'm full and wondering why I ate so much for breakfast?

My kitchen has been taken over by pantry moths. Disgusting! I bought traps which seem to work fine. They still are everywhere, on the ceilings, cupboards, now creeping into the living room. I see them hovering against the lit TV at night.

My parents have taken a road trip to Alaska from Pennsylvania. In eleven days they reached Delta Junction Alaska. While on the road, my father turned 70! He called the other night and sounded younger and closer to me, as if he were speaking on the phone from the next room. My mom says the sights are incredible. She has had dreams about me for three nights in a row, she wonders if I'm OK. Yes, just a bit of a funk.

Beatles Mania all over again. Paul did have the most Bambi-esque eyes. John and George were, still are my favorites.

Time drags on and passes so quickly. My days are over before I realize what next to get into. Summer is pretty much kaput, fairs are this weekend. Farmers' Markets, or Farmer's Markets???? A market of farmers or farmers already ending in s, showing their seasonable wares....

Halloween is right around the corner...I don't think of seasons are sharp edged or square, maybe oblong, how they just ooze and meld into each other. I'm going to have a party for some of Lola's friends. Decorations, games, fun stuff for the kids. Yes, I will have adult beverages. Bloody Mary's, Sangria....with mini body part ice cubes! I think I will dress as a gypsy this year.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!

2009-09-01T13:34:00.003-04:00

Sean and I celebrated our 11th wedding anniversary on August 29th. We met back in college around 1988. We had a handful of disastrous dates. If that is what you could call them. I saw him around campus. Tall, thin, vintage paisley shirts with peg legged pants. He had a peculiar bounce to his step, always walking on his toes. He smoked a pipe and was a hipster before hipsters were cool. He was majoring in Communications, as was I. He had an off beat show on the school airwaves. Friends would read poetry while someone played background bongos. He was well versed in the music underground of CBGBs and all the too cool music that no one heard except to be lucky to catch his show.

A mutual friend, who I was casually dating, introduced us. Our first "date" was sitting in the local cemetery with an acoustic guitar at night. The second, meeting his grandmother, who worked at the library. I was to help him with an overdue paper. We spent the evening combing through Rolling Stone Magazines under dimly lit library lights. Our third date, spending the evening with a friend of his listening to albums. That friend went on to become a mortician. The final date, hanging at a friends house, having beer in the backyard. I sat next to Sean and casually placed my arm inside his. He pulled his arm away.

There is a depth of space and time for which I can't account for. I continued my Communications and Journalism studies and Sean continued to anther college. A few years rolled by and a friend suggested I send a demo tape to a station Sean was programming. By this time I had met someone and had been dating him for a year. He had enlisted in the Navy and had given me an engagement ring on New Year's Eve, before he left. I didn't want the ring, and didn't want to hear my reasons.

I sent a tape to the station, and Sean called. I was nervous. What did he remember of me, what did he think of me? I recall the phone conversation. He was friendly and relaxed. I interviewed for the morning news dj/girl sidekick and was hired. He gave me my first job in radio. It was everything I hoped it would be! WKRP with all the characters! The hours were crippling. Up by 4am to be on the air by 6!

I was in contact with my boyfriend. I told him I had gotten the job and Sean and I were hanging out, seeing each other, strictly platonic. The boyfriend went AWOL and turned up at the radio station in the wee morning hours begging for me to leave with him. It ended quite messy with Military Police and the realization that he was a control addict who, with my enabling was on a downward spiral. I did learn recently he's married with kids and is happy.

CHAPTER TWO

Into our first year as a couple, Sean received a job offer in Maryland. We sat in the park as he told me he was going to take it. The park bench was spinning and I felt sweaty. "Come with me, It will be an adventure!" Neither of us had yet uttered the "I love yous." We simply enjoyed being together. A few days later, I was helping mom load the dishwasher. "So, when are you planning on telling me you're leaving?" I dropped a dish, it bounced and smashed into pieces, scattering across the floor. I was raised in a strict Catholic family. Rosary after dinner, extra change in the Lenten bowl, no meat on Fridays during Lent, confession, Sunday school, all by the book.

They were heartbroken and begged me to get my own apartment if I must leave with Sean. I packed my two tone brown and gold Chevy Citation and was ready to go. That next day I was violently ill. A kidney infection. I spent eight days in the hospital while my car sat packed with what I had, waiting for the adventure to begin. Sean had begun his job and sent flowers. As soon as I was discharged and regained strength I moved my things into our first apartment together.

We moved two or three times along the East Coast during those first few years. Both building our careers and our lives together. In the mid 1990's I started asking him about the idea of marriage. I gave him several ultimatums, and then would give several more. This continued for a few more years. We married in August of 1998.

Sean had spent Saturday at the radio station with Lola, finishing some undone business. They walked in the door with big grins on their faces. Sean had freshly steamed lobsters and champagne. "It is our anniversary today!" "No honey, it's not until the end of the month!" I was going to rib him for always getting these important dates wrong! HE WAS RIGHT! HE REMEMBERED OUR ANNIVERSARY!!!! I had completely forgotten!

We have been together for 18 years. We have weathered more than our share of heartache and loss. We have grown together, tested each other, relied on each other, forgiven each other, argued with each other, slept in separate bedrooms when angry, made each other laugh, think, grow, depend on each other. We have two little celestial beings who now make us laugh, grow, and think. Through it all, we have always had an adventure. He is a man of honor and a man of his word. This indeed has been, and is everyday....... an adventure.

Just One More

2009-08-19T18:18:00.002-04:00

Lola and I had another small "go around" last night while getting her ready for bed. We read a story in bed, while she brushes her teeth. It was past her bedtime and she wanted anther book to read. "Sweetie, mom just read Bad Cat, it's time to settle down and be quiet. Time for night night." "But mom, I just want one more story I promise, just one story!" I hear Gibson skooching in his crib across the hall. It's humid tonight. We have his bedroom door open so the AC will cool the upstairs.

"No, Lola, let's go to sleep." She starts to whine even louder. She throws her toothbrush on the floor and cranks the tantrum to 11. Now she's trying to wake Gibson up with her meltdown. "Lola Rose (God, I'm using her middle name, I'm turning into my mother!) be quiet. I say what goes. I'm not telling you again. Let's settle down and get some sleep!"

There is some theatrical sniffing and asking for a tissue. "Mom, can I have an ice pop in bed?" No. "Mom, I think I'm hungry, can I have some crackers?" NO. "Mom, why are you the boss?" "That's my job. Your job is to be a kid, have fun, play with your brother, go to school. My job is to keep you safe, feed you, take care of you, make sure you're happy, having fun, and that you get enough sleep so you're not grumpy in the morning." "Mom, I've got a great idea, why don't we have two bosses!"

I should have just read her a 2nd story. It's an hour past her bedtime. "Lola, there is one boss and that is me, actually daddy is the boss too. I have an idea, I will let you be the boss of things that matter to you! You can pick out the clothes you want to wear to school, you can pick out your breakfast, and you can choose one fun thing to do on the weekends!" She loves this idea and is telling me she wants to wear her Who tshirt with a pink sparkle belt to school.

Peace again settles over her butterfly sheets. The fan in her room is gently moving the wind chimes above her bed. "Mom, it's so hard being a kid. Someday I will be the boss." She nudges my arm over her shoulders and shimmies under my chin to lay as close to me as possible. That day will come all too soon.

I'm Praying For Patience

2009-08-16T16:18:00.002-04:00

I think I may have won the Worst Mom of the Year Award this morning.

I've read Emotional Intelligence by Daniel Goleman. Fascinating book! His premise is we're born with a certain level of intelligence/IQ. This can get people far ahead in life. Goleman believes the human view of IQ is far too narrow and society/parents are overlooking the benefits of empathy, patience and understanding that our kids need to be taught. He argues "emotional" intelligence in not fixed at birth. These facets of self awareness, self discipline and empathy can be nurtured and grown from childhood to adulthood.

Four year olds, at least mine, has a hard time understanding "In just a minute!" "Wait till mommy puts Gibby to bed, and then we'll read under the covers with the flashlight." The most trying for me, when I'm on the phone!!!!! "Honey, you see Mom is on the phone, wait until I'm done and then we'll ride your scooter on the sidewalk." Patience. I'm teaching her if she waits, there is a reward.

Lola usually accompanies me to Mass on Sunday. She enjoys having her time with me and loves the choir. She's now kneeling and moving her mouth to the music. We bring coloring books and stickers to keep her occupied. I now let her go to the "potty" by herself at church. I can see the bathroom door down the hallway from the pew I sit in. She proudly marches back with a big grin on her face and a "thumbs up!" which makes the family behind us snicker.

She wanted to stay home with Daddy this morning, so I thought I'd take Gibson. He's come a few times and is always fidgety toward the middle of mass. It's a distraction to me and those around me. Worse comes to worse there is the infant room with toys in the rear of the church and speakers to hear mass and large windows to see up front.

I dressed Gibson and asked Sean to put the car seat in the convertible. Lola heard my heels clicking in the dining room. "Where are you going Mom?" "Mass honey with Gibson." "But I want to go!" I was running a bit late already. "You said you wanted to stay home with Daddy?" "But I want to go now!" It's 10:13 and Mass begins at 10:30. "No, you wanted to stay home, and I don't have time to get you dressed and brush your teeth! I'll be back soon and I'll make blueberry pancakes."

She's standing in her Tinkerbell underwear, her hair in a bedhead wavey crown cascading down her shoulders. Her lower lip balloons out and the tears begin. "Lo, I'm sorry but Mom's got to go!" She races upstairs and starts pulling clothes out of her armoire. "Lo, NO! I don't have time to get you dressed!" She's screaming/crying now. "Alright come on, get up here, but we have to hurry!" I grab the clothes off the floor and start to dress her. She pulls away and heads for the stairs. "Lo! Where are you going?!" She turnes to me, such hurt and anger in her four year old blueberry blue eyes. "YOU ARE MAD AND I DON'T WANT TO GO WITH YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE MAD!" Her accusatory finger is still pointing at me. The polish I painted on her nails last week is wearing off.

She's in Daddy's lap sobbing, her head buried in his chest. He looks at me with disappointment, not as infinite as Lola's but still a look that says "Way to go." I feel like crap, no I feel like shit. I've wounded my little girl and know I am the worst example of patience. My God, she is only four year old! I drop to my knees and hold out my arms. She comes immediately. "Mommy is so sorry, I didn't mean to make you sad. I'm late for church and that is not your fault, of course I want you to come with us." Sean holds Gibson and Lo and I go back upstairs to get dressed.

We're late but I don't care. I buckle them into their car seats. Gibby is sucking on his paci and reaching for Lola across the seat. We sit in the driveway. "Lola, I am really sorry. I don't have patience. It's not your fault and I'm happy you're coming to church with me! I'm sorry I made you cry. You have better patience than Mommy and you are teaching me to be more patient. It's OK if you're upset with me."

I pull the car in reverse and feel sick to my stomach. I look at her in the mirror, she's putting her orange sunglasses on, the wind is whipping her ponytails around. "Mom, I just want to go where you go, that's all." I reach behind me and tickle her knee. "I love you baby, and I'm sorry."

Need A Good Techy...

2009-08-15T16:49:00.004-04:00

I'm crazily trying to figure out why the *!#^ I can't upload photos to this blog! I've done it only once or twice and believe that was a fluke??? I have no problem uplaoding pic to Facebook and several Mail Art sites that I belong to????? Anyone with advice or suggestions, or a baseball bat would be greatly appreciated!

The Movie Doubt. My Review.

2009-08-14T18:20:00.005-04:00

Watched the movie Doubt last night. We love, love, LOVE Netflix! Watching movies on line is also a pleasure. We usually watch the documentaries and horror films on line and order dramas and kid's dvd. We usually squeeze in a movie a week, not bad with two children!

I could not wait to see this movie! Philip Seymour Hoffman! Meryl Streep! Priest vs Nun! This movie was like chewing on a piece of gristled meat! You slice in, raise it to your mouth and wait for that moist meaty sensation to kick in......

IT DIDN'T!

The movie was based on a play. Can't recall the playwright's name. You've got a Catholic school set in the Bronx mid 60s. You have Sister Aloysius (Streep) who's been at this nun game far too long. She's stern, a stereotypical bride of Christ with a lemon puss and educating by way of fear. An "old school" gal. No gum chewing, no barrettes in the hair, and no transistor radios! And in this corner, Father Flynn (Hoffman) who wants to lead and teach with kindness while yucking it up with his compadres over smokes, booze and back slapping.

A third nun is embroiled in the plot. She's young and wants to love her teaching as much as she loves truth and honesty. She is told, as are all the other nuns to "keep an eye" on Father. Sister Aloysius suspects unwanted attention from Father Flynn towards an African American student, the only black student at the school.

At this point the dialogue is still somewhat decent. You still like Father Flynn and hate Sister Sourpuss. What if she's wrong??? You as the viewer are to have doubts about Father's innocence? Get it, DOUBT. I felt the movie ended hurriedly and the ending such a let down. Big drama scene at the end where Streep delivers the whomping dialogue to sum up the movie....her declaration seems so out of character with who she portrays.... I won't give away too much. I can only say "Father forgive me for I watched an incredibly boring movie all the way to the end!"

All Work And No Play

2009-08-13T18:47:00.005-04:00

Did I tell you I was offered a job! Actually two jobs! I've been a touch "moody" lately and feeling unbalanced. I've worked since I was 16 and often had two jobs through high school and college while nailing down 22 credits per semester. Dean's List every time, no, I'm not bragging....well yes, I am!

Anywho....I was "laid off" about two years ago from a job as Retail Floor Mgr, Buyer, and Designer of a furniture store. I've been in this business for about 15 years and honestly loved it! Prior to that, I was a Fashion Merchandiser for a handful of well known department stores along the East Coast. Prior to that, I was a News Director, and in the humble beginnings of my radio career; the girl sidekick at a rock station, a bit of a morning zoo if you will. Throw in Burger King Drive Thru Cashier in my teens and Makeup Artist for Lancome and that about rounds it out.

There were medical complications with my pregnancy with Lola. For the last five months I was ordered to strict home bed rest. It was an intense time for me, not used to not working, feeling cut off. My new job was to grow this baby and have her arrive when she was supposed to. Everything went well. I stayed home with her for seven months, enjoying NOT working and falling in love with her more and more. The go back to work feeling was tugging at me though and my employer eagerly wanted me back. I was in a position to make demands and I boldly did! I wanted to work only three days a week and asked for an insane amount of money. On the drive home from that meeting, they called me on my cell and asked "Can you start tomorrow?"

I worked that glorious schedule for two more years and then was "laid off." I use the quotes because their way of "terminating" me was less than ethical. I hired a lawyer, and won. This was a huge learning curve for me. I loved this warped little fringe family of mine and was deluded to think I was irreplaceable. I lost friends in this battle. Lines were drawn, sides were taken because they felt threatened (and were!) that they too could loose their jobs if they sided with me. Obviously these were not my friends. When a door closes, a window opens. My vindication paid for about half of Gibson's adoption!

Cosmically amusing how things just work out!!! We adopted this beautiful baby boy, and I had the luxury of being ASAHM (a stay at home mom!) But, alas, the tug of going to work began its pull on me again. We all know the economy is in the crapper. I knew I couldn't land a job that paid me what I was making then. Interviewers would look at my salary and do a double take. I interviewed for a sales/manager position at a little downtown store. I was told I was far too over qualified. The hours weren't conducive to my family's schedule. I was offered the job and declined. I interviewed for a bank teller position. I nailed the interview and was called back. Again the schedule did not work and I wasn't willing to work on Saturdays. The pay didn't come close to covering daycare for Gibson.

Don't misunderstand me. I'm lucky to not have to work! I'm lucky that Lola is in an amazing pre school where she flourishes four days a week. I'm lucky, blessed to be a mom to two whirlwind children. Lucky to have this stay at home time with Gibson. Incredibly blessed that my husband leaves the house every morning to fight the good fight and bring home a paycheck. I have these gaps in my day, when Gibson is sweetly sleeping to write, blog, be creative, clean, organize, and focus on my collage works. When he's awake, we play, go for long walks downtown and through the neighborhood taking advantage of green grass, trees, the buzz of lawnmowers, the chorus of birds. We go to the park and I push him in the baby swings. We go to the local creamery and we share a small vanilla cone. We go to the library, post office, grocery store.

This is a job! I'm still managing and using my creative skills. And, this job has the best perks of all. I can stay in my pajamas all day if I choose. I go to the grocery store without makeup on. If I choose, I can brush my teeth at noon! I can play all day if I want! I always did relish a job well done and feel a sense of accomplishment at the end of my work day! I enjoy having a clean house, having a gourmet meal made, baking something special. There is satisfaction in a neatly folded stack of warm laundry, organized kid's rooms, mowing the lawn so Sean doesn't have to. I'm multi tasking, managing, organizing, creating. I am the CEO and Domestic Goddess of my empire! (and to think those poor souls are still slaving away at that little furniture store!)

Cukes, Kale, and The Missing Pup Pup

2009-08-12T11:40:00.004-04:00

Our weekends are jam packed with summer fun. Trying to squeeze every ounce of it into our mouths and not let it run down our chins! I've been eating lots of great peaches and sugary corn on the cob. Last weekend we walked to the farmers market with Gibby and Lola. Our first stop on Main Street was Brad's Place, a little dive breakfast joint resplendent with Red Sox mania tacked everywhere! After pancakes and eggs we continued our journey to the market. The sounds of stand up bass and high hat waft down the sidewalk. Lola clambers out of her stroller and is giddy with buzz of market life.

We're on the hunt for spicy mustard greens, kale, and some local goat cheese. I smell crepes bubbling slightly on a grill as local blueberry jam is sacrificed to its innards! The table next to it is selling local honey and shortcakes. There's a glorious display of cukes, tomatoes, and zucchini with the sun shining lovingly upon them. I can't resist and run my hands over their sensuous shapes. We buy a bag of greens, kale, and creamy, buttery organic Dutch Gold Cheese. I ate so many samples I just had to buy some!

Lola made friends with a little boy and they're running around having a game of tag in front of a band playing music. Lots of kids are running around having their own little Woodstock. Shoes are off, blankets are on the ground, kids eating peaches out of the back of a pickup truck. Lola finds a sunflower on the ground and tucks it behind her ear.

It was a great morning. We loaded Gibby and Lo back in their strollers and headed home. THEN IT HAPPENED! "Oh crap! Where is Pup Pup?" Pup Pup is Gibson's favorite lovey that he sleeps with. PP goes wherever Gibby goes. "Are you sure you took him with us?" Sean senses a manic storm coming on, not from Gibby, but from me! Sean's mom bought PP when news of us adopting a baby was to happen. Gibby rubs PP back and forth across his face when he's sleepy. Sean drove back downtown and retraced our steps. Meanwhile I put Gibson down for his nap. He wailed and cried for almost 25 minutes. Sean pulled in the driveway. "Any luck?" "Nothing, I even went inside Brads....no pup pup."

After about half an hour, Gibby fell asleep. "Come on Lo, let's take a walk and look for Pup Pup." She felt sad for Gibby and suggested we make Missing Pup Pup Posters. I had taken a picture of the kids in the driveway that morning. Lola is dressed in her Hello Kitty t shirt and multi colored polka dot skirt, sun visor on with piggy tails sticking out the sides. She's leaning into Gib's stroller and he's laughing at her. Pup Pup is there in his arms. I scan that photo and the information and we post them on a few telephone poles along Main Street.

It's been four days and no word of Pup Pup. Lola gave Gibby some of her dearest stuffed animals to sleep with. Gibson knows they're not PP. They don't smell like him, bark like him, or snuggle like him. I've ordered another Pup Pup replacement, same make, same color. It should arrive in the mail by this weekend. Hopefully Gibby will see the resemblance and fall in love all over again with Pup Pup Jr. Maybe someone picked up Pup Pup, maybe he's in the arms of a child who really needed him. Only Pup Pup knows.

Splatter Control

2009-08-04T14:30:00.002-04:00

Gibson is such a "boy!" That kind of vroom vroom, throwing, smashing, pounding, make lots of noise kind of boy. He's almost 14 months old and not yet walking on his own. (This may be a godsend!) His crawling prowess is unbelievable! He moves at Tasmanian Devil speed, leaving smoking little knee tracks behind him! He happily cruises along the sofa, to the coffee table, to the leather chair, begs to be picked up, then wiggle worms himself back down to the floor.

He's bored with baby food, I don't blame him. Lately he prefers organic yogurt, macaroni, carrots, buttered toast, noodles, and much to Lola's dismay Popsicles. More for him, means less for her! Mealtime has become a raise the spoon, dodge the splatter kind of battle. Unlike Lola, who ate everything in front of her and placidly took her bottle, this little guy is flinging, throwing, and blowing raspberries as I feed him. August is way too hot to wear a head to toe Hazmat suit!

I have found if I give him his own spoon he's content for a bit. If his hands are busy he's more likely to eat what I give him. I think I have his number. He throws his food over the highchair tray and watches for my reaction. If I say "NO!" he laughs and lobs more over the bow. This is a triumph for the family dog Newman. He was wondering when this kid would start treating him like family.

I never had to use outlet safety covers with Lola, she was curious as a baby, but knew what NO meant. Gibby is fearless. "NO" to him means, "Yes, yes, go see what this wonderful new strange thing is!" He will dive off furniture if he has the chance. He will pull on cords, hoping the magical thing attached comes crashing down so he can have a better look. He will leap from our arms to see what toy is on the floor. He will grab hands full of Newman's fur and stuff it in his mouth and clap for himself.

It's fascinating to watch him play. He loves anything on wheels. He'll roll his toy cars along the rug and crawl behind them. Lola had no interest in cars, or things with wheels. One begins to think about gender and how these babies are wired. I don't like to categorize baby behavior by gender, though to me he's showing, at this stage, stereotypical "boy" behavior. Friends of ours have a little boy who enjoys wigs, dressing up, pretty feminine shoes, and theatrical behavior. He is one of the sweetest little guys and he has great, creative parents who allow him this outlet.

I can't help but daydream ahead, and wonder what paths my children will take, what kind of adults they'll turn out to be. For now I'm living in the moment (OK, trying to) and enjoying every bottle throwing, food lobbing, sweet, belly giggle minute.

Got Goat?

2009-07-29T18:26:00.009-04:00

Lola had sloppey joes the other day at her school. "Mom, mom we had sloppey joes and carrot sticks and crackers for lunch today!" The parents are given a weekly advanced copy of the menu. Teriyaki chicken, meatballs, tuna noddle cassarole, corn dogs? I wasn't thrilled she'd be eating corndogs.

She wanted sloppey joes for dinner tonight. We have tried as a family to eat together and have failed miserably. Sean is usually home by 7 or 7:30. I've tried having dinner ready when he hits the door, but it felt too rushed with the dog, Lola, Gibby, me, all rushing to greet Daddy. For me, it was hard to instantly switch gears from mom-dom to partner who listens to your day with an undistracted ear and thumbs her nose at the corporate suits who employe my husband. (I, We, are incredibly thankful he has a great job!) So, now Lola has her dinner by 6, then bath, unwind with family, some cartoons and off to bed.

We're back to the dinner table. She loved the sloppy joes which we renamed Sloppy Lo's. "Mom, I love them! I also love tomatoes, broccoli, brownies, and spahgetti. Oh, and milk, I love milk!" She doesn't eat broccoli, or anything green. Color aversion. "Milk comes from cows and goats. You know cheese comes from goats too, goat cheese." She takes a bite of her sandwich. "What do horses give? Do they give milk?" "No, hon they don't give milk." "But they're fast runners in the field aren't they? Can I have a goat or a horse? We could keep him in the garage and I could take it to school!"

Why do I have this suspicion she crafted this whole conversation about cow's milk, just so she could ask for a horse?

The World Is Full Of Strangers

2009-07-22T20:55:00.002-04:00

I'm trying to educate Lola about "strangers." What a slippery slope! I had picked her up from daycare and after a drink and yogurt, wanted to play pirate outside. She had drawn an elaborate map in school and wanted to continue her game outside. She's wanting her independence more and more. "Mom, just let me play outside by myself, I promise I'll stay on the sidewalk." "Mom, can I ride my scooter to school, you can stay home with Gibby, I'll be fine!" "Mom, let me use the potty by myself, no one will bother me!"

I told her she could play in the side yard along the driveway, so I could keep an eye on her. Gibby was taking a late nap, and I grabbed a few Gourmet magazines and sat on the side porch. She was pretending the driveway was her ship and she was the captain. She had her foam sword and pirate hat from Halloween a year ago and was screaming "Ahoy, man overboard!"

A young man walked by with a black and white speckled Greyhound and smiled in amusement at Lola's play. "Hey can I pet your dog?" she asked. She ran over so quickly, the force knocking her pirate hat off. "Lola, stop!" She knows the rules about strange dogs, ask the owner if you can pet, then ask where the dog likes to be pet, don't make initial eye contact with the dog, let the dog then be the first to sniff you.....

It's strangers that frighten me more than a rabid, drooling dog. "Mommy, who was he?" "Honey, that's a stranger, remember, someone you don't know..." "But he smiled at me mom?" He's a stranger because I don't know him either. I've seen him walk his dog for several months now, he waves hello as his dog urinates on the telephone pole at the end of my driveway. "It doesn't matter if he smiles, he's still a stranger, and you have to be careful." "But what if I ask him if he's going to be nice to me?" This is where I begin to hear the words tumbling out of my mouth, not making sense. "It's like the witch in Snow White, she tricks her with that apple. She dresses like an old beggar woman and gives her the apple, it's a trick!" "But, mom, he didn't have an apple. He just had his dog and a poop bag."

By then our neighbor Bunny pulled in next door. She waved hello and Lola ran over to see her. She told Bunny she was playing pirate and we saw a stranger walking his dog. Bunny told her to be careful of strangers too. What message am I hoping Lola learns from this? I don't want her to be afraid of the world, the people in it, I only want her safe and sound and to play in her carefree child world for as long as she can.

I asked her later tonight if she understood what I was trying to teach her about strangers. "They are people we don't know, who smile at me, and maybe will try and trick me. But I know to yell and run away. Sometimes mom, you just confuse me."

If I Had A Nickle

2009-07-13T08:39:00.008-04:00

Just read the story about the West Virginia woman who again has won the lottery! It's ONLY her ninth time winning and her jackpot totals over $159,000. Her husband has been hit by the lucky stick too. He's won over 16K! Is it luck? I see people buying tickets by the handfuls at the grocery store. How many of them will be winners? How many of them have recently lost a job, received news of cancer, have no insurance, are single parents hoping to add money to a zero balance account, long overdraft and all hope abandoned? How many of them are behind on mortgage, car loans, worrying about how to pay for this winter's rising cost of heating their homes?

Nearly half of American adults spend over 45 BILLION! annually on lottery tickets! We all love the stories of the down and out who win big, with only several quarters and nickles jingling in their pocket! My father always said "There's no such thing as easy money." Remember as a kid you would play the game WHAT WOULD YOU DO WITH A MILLION DOLLARS? You would lay in the grass, looking up at the clouds guessing at all the possibilities....I'd buy a donut shop, a toy store, a deluxe bike with sparkle handlebars, all the Snickers in the world and stash them under my bed! Kid's dreams with not a care in the world.

Today it's back to paying the bills, saving for college funds, having enough in the IRA account, the 401K, money markets. I'm teaching Lola the importance of money. She's learning that you can't just have a toy every time you go grocery shopping. I explain to her that a quarter is worth twenty five pennies, two dimes plus a nickle. In her small marker stained hands, a quarter holds lots of power. I see her eyes glaze over at the possibilities. Just for kicks, I'll defy the common sense Gods and buy a scratch-o today! If I win big, I'll be blogging from some sunny, mojito soaked island. Oh, the possibilities.................

Youth Is Wasted On The Wrong People

2009-07-11T10:22:00.007-04:00

Last night was a "date night!" My boyfriend was out of town, so Sean was the next choice! A good babysitter, someone who you can trust with your children, in your home is a rare find. Someone who will sit for free is a BIG bonus! I don't like asking people for favors. I don't want to impose. And it's not the reciprocating that gets in the way. I understand time restraints and peoples' lives and don't want to clog their universal pipeline with my requests. I've learned over the years though it's OK to ask for help and this parent, mom thing is to be shared. (I'm rambling, it's my cross to bear, and yours when you read my blog....)

Anywhooooo.....I've become friends with Faith and her son Jake. Lola adores Jake. They live a mere two minute walk from our house, just across the grassy common. They have their playdates and we've gotten to know each other in that comfortable kind of way. She agreed to watch Lola and Gibby last night for a few hours. Every few minutes Lola would ask "Is Jake here yet? When is he coming to babysit me? What is he doing right now Mama?" It was late afternoon and she was cranky and as usual refusing to take a nap. Her whining was at that all time high where you want to pull a Sylvia Plath in the kitchen...."I need Jakey, Oh Jakey where are you..I need you now!" Serious Romeo and Juliet from a four year old! I barricaded myself in the sunroom with the computer until her storm blew over. Minutes later, all is eerily quiet....? She is sound asleep on the sofa, clutching a pillow, cherub mouth open, snoring it off.

Faith and Jake arrive. Hurray! I give Faith the low down on the zillion remotes and dvd player should the kids want a movie. I had Gibson in bed before they arrived. I show her the snacks in the pantry and give her our cell numbers, pediatrician's number, restaurant phone number, poison control number and the access code to the red phone in the White House. All bases are covered, I'm dolled up and out the door!

It's a gorgeous warm evening as I drive to Northampton. Sean and I walk to Sierra Grill. The owner greets us and treats us to a round of drinks! That's how you run a successful restaurant! On a busy Friday night, we're seated quickly in our favorite plush, dimly lit booth. Over a bottle of Viognier, we trade our stories. The votive flickers over our table like a cleansing stream. This is our time to reconnect. Sean orders steak with red wine reduction, onions and mushrooms. Grilled asparagus and Belgian fries with house made aloi and ketsup. I order scallops with carrot, ginger butter, asparagus and mixed grilled veggies. Delightful, savory, magical. We also had cold marinated mussels. The taste reminded me of our Italian travels.

We are happily full and flushed as we step out into the night air. We are going to catch some live music tonight. This is my high, my overindulgence. I become a giddy school girl standing against the stage. Mission of Burma is playing and we've been looking forward to seeing them. When we first met, we both had their album. Kismet, cosmic. Lots of people were milling about. Hipster kids, old die hards, too cool for school, and then the forty plus group. We had the real passion last night! We rocked it with the best of them! We knew all the lyrics and pulsed our aging bodies to the beat. This forty something group, as sweaty as the three guys on stage! We would readjust our complimentary earplugs and rock the night away, raising our Red Stripe Beer in anthem, the power of rock and roll!

I then knew what Cinderella felt like, the clock ticking, knowing that someone else was in charge of my children. I ask Sean what time it is, the music so loud, my question is lost over the speakers and monitors and lights. I make the universal sign for time...pointing to the imaginary watch on my wrist. 11:30 and Mission Of Burma is just ending their first set. Cinderella has to go...I'll be damned if I leave behind my leopard print stilettos!

2009-07-06T11:39:00.007-04:00

I've been wanting to plant my own garden this spring. Never got around to it....there are so many wonderful, fresh, fertile farms in my area of New England. There's a farmer's market every few miles and a Saturday market just a five minute walk from my house.

Growing up in Pennsylvania, my parents cultivated an enormous garden, ripe with twelve rows of corn, potatoes, lettuce, cucumbers, squash, and tomatoes. The kids (Joe, Denise, Jim, and I) would spend early mornings weeding. I hated the spiders, hidden, embedded in the corn stalks just waiting for a finger. I loved the dew strung along the webs like a glass beaded necklace. There were slugs, Japanese beetles, ladybugs, and rabbits who took advantage of twilight to feast on the backyard bounty.

There has never been a taste sensation to rival that of a fresh plucked, warmed by the sun plump tomato, with just a sprinkle of salt. Backyard dinners were complete with sweet corn freshly picked and husked by little hands minutes earlier, green salads loaded with radishes and beets, cabbage and carrot slaw with the kick of vinegar and mayonnaise.

So many of my summer childhood memories are rooted in that family garden. Next spring I hope to grow a garden and hope my children will help me weed and plant, and pick. If the season is good, we'll grow lots of memories too!

Ragamuffins

2009-07-02T15:05:00.006-04:00

My brother, sister in law and their daughter was visiting for the 4th. The house is quiet and I have lots of cleaning to do. I've been itching to blog while they've been here. I've shown great restraint!

I held my brother captive playing Scrabble and Password while they were here. He's a year and two days older than me. My birthday is June 13th and his is June 11th. My mother is also a Gemini, born June 2nd. I refer to Joe as my "baby brother." He stands an impressive 6' 2" and weighs about 260. Not so tiny! His sense of humor and love of high jinks is as big as his stature. His hazel eyes are now framed by brown, slightly grey at the temples, thick shocks of hair.

As usual, we talk about the days growing up together. Lots of laughing, wheezing, and "Oh my God, I forgot about that time!" His 13 year old daughter loves to hear these stories and see her dad in a more youthful lens.

We grew up in a time when you could ride your Big Wheel down the road for hours until Mom would lean out the patio door and ring the little school bell for lunch. We would spend lost afternoons in our backwoods building tree houses and lifting up rocks hoping to discover salamanders. We would play with Matchbox cars in the sandbox and then catch Monarch butterflies, running thru open fields of Lazy Susan's. We would swing on overgrown vines over the pond. We would ice skate on it in the winter and build bonfires. I remember late summer twilight's rolling down our grassy bank until we were breathless and the grass had turned our clothes and flushed faces greenish black.

My childhood memories hold glimpses of my sister and older brother too. My memories of Joey and I, rag-a-muffins, in our corduroys and western, mother of pearl button down shirts, pursuing box turtles or doe through the woods are still so fresh, so pungent in my mind. Joe taught me how to tie my shoes when I was three. He would share his sandwich with me when I had greedily finished mine first. He taught me the delicate art of twisting the cookie open so filling would be on both halves.

When we both starting dating, we shared our secrets, our crushes, our first "Well did you kiss?" During one of our many teenage summers, mom and dad were camping for a week, we had the house to ourselves. That week, and how we spent it with our friends is still something of a legend that only Joe and I share as our secret. We were fearless, free, excitement around every corner. We were young, scared, shy, eager to explore the world. We had each other. There is no better joy than to relive the past with my little brother. I see Lola and Gibson, several years from now, hand in hand guiding each other through life as only a brother and sister will do.

Summer Serenade

2009-06-30T18:11:00.000-04:00

Listening to the rain beat down the hopscotch pavement.

Leaves bouncing for joy, sending drops on their way.

Sun breaks thru hitting roofs and siding.

Chimes serenade the grass below.

Earthy smell, damp and sweet.

The Power of Oxi Clean or The Power Of Three

2009-06-29T08:30:00.000-04:00

This morning's news Uber Pitchman Billy Mays dead at 50. You've all seen him. Jet black, slicked back hair and matching beard, trademark khakis and denim work shirt; Enthusiastically pitching floor wax, cleaners, gadgets, cookware, and lately life insurance (ironic?)

Remember the adage, celeb deaths come in threes? If it had not been Michael Jackson it would have been someone else to fill our need to make sense of things? To will a prophecy, to control the universal number three? Spooky indeed!

King Of Pop

2009-06-26T10:05:00.000-04:00

I was combing thru blogs early yesterday afternoon. I'm fascinated by those in other languages. Some of those blogs provide a translation feed. I prefer to gaze at the photos and guess what they're about.

I came upon one, a lushly drawn ink of Michael Jackson with a crimson soaked heart, broken in two. The image was so beautiful and mysterious with foreign text surrounding the drawing. No translation code was needed. I surfed the Internet and within seconds, learned Michael Jackson had a heart attack. Minutes later, I read he was pronounced dead?

The King of Pop, dead at 50. He was preparing for his big "comeback" July 15th with sold out shows. His presence was undeniable. Whether you loved or hated him, his contribution to Soul, R&B, Pop, dance, celebrity hysteria, pop culture, freakdom, fantasy, opulence, and over the topness is now clearly history. Sadly, he leaves behind three children who will continue to grow up under this cloud of weirdness and speculation.

You have heard of death in threes? It's that uncanny phenomenon that celebrity death come in three. This time around Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, and now Michael Jackson. This is a creepy occurrence. I read a great article by Ryan Omega at Examiner.com who has his theory. He says we are so "attuned to death that it naturally happens. Deaths occur in threes, marriages occur in threes, births occur in threes. We almost universally will the number three." If if hadn't been Michael Jackson it would have been someone else to fill that spot. He also explains it this way. " The point of prophecy is that a statement reverberates so strongly within a culture, that society seeks to fulfill it through its perceptions and it becomes an unwitting expectation." Incredibly heady stuff by Ryan Omega!

Today I'm going to add more Michael Jackson to my iPod.

Puppy Dog Tails PART 2

2009-06-26T09:53:00.000-04:00

I have come to a decision that I know is just and carefully thought out...We will NOT have Gibby circumcised! I have fretted over this and lost sleep over this....I thought I had done my research thoroughly, but still felt uneasy. Maybe Gibson's temperature the morning of his surgery was a Godsend! I was changing him this morning and looked upon him in his sweet little boy wholeness and a peace came over me.

He came into this world intact, he will remain so. My heartfelt thanks to all who posted on the earlier story. Your comments did have an impact on my decision, as well as me forcing my pediatrician to "honestly" tell me what he thought. "If it ain't broke, don't fix it!" Sometimes it does take a village to raise a child.

Snails And Puppy Dog Tails

2009-06-24T13:49:00.000-04:00

Gibson was to be circumcised this morning, 7:30 sharp! (Ouch!) This procedure was not done as a newborn in the hospital. I wish it had been. I've been going round robin on this subject and not wanting Gibson in any discomfort or see stitches when he's changed. He's discovered his little...and he grabs it and giggles. Because the procedure wasn't done in the hospital in a timely manner, his pediatrician recommended a urologist. She advised us to have it done around age one.

Lola wasn't feeling well on Father's Day and spent the day on the sofa with a temperature. She's back to her snack wanting, cartoon watching, sassy little self again. Whatever virus she had, she wanted to share it with Gibson. Wouldn't you know, on the morning of his surgery he was running a mild temp of 99. I woke him up at 6 this morning and his whole body was overly warm. He laid in his crib and soothed his "pup pup" blanket while I took his temp. Usually he's batting the ear thermometer away or trying to chew on it.

I phoned the urologist and explained his temp and Lo's weekend battle and lose of appetite. I felt uneasy about Gibby having the surgery with a fever, the urologist agreed and it will be re scheduled later this summer. I spent a restless night worrying about the surgery and poor Gibby.

My husband and I have educated ourselves on the procedure and feel the pros far out way the cons. We are not doing this for religious reasons. Studies have shown a lesser chance of some cancers for circumcised males and low urinary tract infections as well. Hygiene is anther factor. Another reason, gender identity. I don't want him to be different than his daddy. As a Latino and African American boy growing up in a white family, he may encounter some "belonging" issues. We will teach him to celebrate his racial differences with pride. We will invest, as a family, in keeping his cultures alive. I just have to worry and fret for the next few months until it's rescheduled, then have him safely back home!

Morning Wanderer

2009-06-23T10:36:00.000-04:00

I had my iPod charged and ready to go this morning. Lola is feeling much better! She had a temp of 101 which steadily rose to 104.3 and stayed there all day Sunday, Father's Day. She's back to her cookie wanting, cartoon watching, rambunctious, off to school self again! Thank God!

I haven't been to the gym in about three months and thought I owed it to myself to get sore and sweaty! The Y has an exceptional child watch room so I planned on dropping Gibby off so he could play.

I was driving down my street, windows open to catch some morning air, and I did a double take.....was that a small child walking by the side of the road? Before turning left at the stop sign I looked down the road. Someone was several blocks away heading toward the child. "Stupid parent!" I thought as I began to turn onto High Street. "Why would you let your child run so far ahead of you on a busy street?" I spotted the boy but then didn't see the person I thought might be a parent? I engaged my four ways and pulled over onto High Street.

My heart was racing. I locked my car, Gibby was with me. I called out "Hey little guy where are you?" He was several houses up the street when I spotted him. "Hey sweetie where's your mommy?" I guessed he was about 3 years old wearing only a soggy pair of diapers and a Batman pajama top, no shoes, no socks. I bent down in front of him. My first thought was someone, maybe his parent, would see me and think I was trying to kidnap the little guy!

"Hi sweetie, what's your name? Where do you live?" He didn't respond but pointed down the sidewalk and then pointed across the street. Without thinking I held my arms out to him and he gladly came to me. By this time a man and woman came out of their house to see what was happening. "I found this little boy in front of your house, I've never seen him in the neighborhood before?" They hadn't either. I didn't bring my cell phone and was about to ask if I could use their house phone when I spotted a police cruiser crossing High Street from Maple. I waved my arms to flag him down.

I wasn't sure what to do, leave him with the couple and try and find the cop or use their phone. The cruiser was coming up the street and pulled behind my car. I told the officer I had found him. The officer asked him the same questions I did with no response. "How about a toy buddy, I have a stuffed animal for you." The officer held him in his arms. A boy, teenager in a tye dye shirt came down the sidewalk. The big brother, calling out the little boy's name. In seconds, another car pulled up behind the cruiser. This was the mother. "Dayton, how did you get out?" She guessed he had walked out the back door. The family was moving into a rental and this was their first official day in the house. I hung back a bit to give them privacy with the officer. The mother seemed more embarrassed than alarmed.

He told her I had found her son wandering the sidewalks of an all too busy street. I think she said thanks, doesn't matter, I just happened to be there at the right moment.

Playdates, Pancakes And A Six Pack

2009-06-20T16:44:00.000-04:00

Wow we had a big day! Lola is unusually quiet so I check on her. She's sound asleep on the sofa. This is a sight of sheer beauty, and I wipe away a tear. This little bundle of slumber, so peaceful, so serene. This from a kid who, when I say "Honey you look a little sleepy, maybe that's why you're so cranky" loudly declares with a hand on her hip "I don't DO naps!" I turn of the TV. Her latest fascination is Casper The Friendly Ghost. We picked out a few of them from the library. I loved those cartoons as a kid. I relished in the thought that grow ups were afraid of him, yet children loved him.

We've lived in our neighborhood for some time now and I'm just beginning to think some of these people are actually ok. Lo has found some friends to play with and I love the idea. Her friend Jake was to come over this morning for a playdate. Not keen on the idea that every social situation has to have a "name." Can't the kids just PLAY like I did? She was at his house two weekends ago, so I thought It would be a nice gesture to have Jake here, make pancakes, do art projects, etc..and give his mom a bit of a break. She was overjoyed and hurriedly dropped him off so she could run errands. A six pack and a shotgun had me wondering where she was off to, and I would have happily tagged along!

Lo and Jake immediately fell into play mode and I whipped up some pancakes. I was pouring the batter, listening to Louie Armstrong when I heard the front door. Lo's other friends from down the street wanted to know if she could come over and play. Jake gave me a mournful look. He wanted to play with Lola's guitars and color with her. I invited the kids in, asked if It was ok with their dad if they stayed for pancakes. Of course it was ok! Now I've added four more plates to the table and brought out small bowls of M&Ms, sprinkles, decorator icing and orange slices for mouths. We're big on pancake faces at my house. The other kids had never done this at THEIR homes and it totally upped my cool mom factor. (I've noticed the other moms are now wearing makeup and big earrings too!) By now I had turned on an all Jazz station for background music. Their father was still sitting at the table as well. I asked if he's like some pancakes, he declined and starting telling me about his Jewish faith. I was half listening because I could smell smoldering cakes on the stove. I'm not sure if he was seeking recruitment? That's where the conversation was headed...he was complaining about friends who are some sort of radical sect who don't recognize his particular conservative beliefs...again I had to politely excuse myself for orange juice and milk for his kids.

Fast forward and after an hour I tell him it's ok if he has other things to do, I would gladly entertain his kids. Off he goes and the mayhem continues. There are five kids in Lola's room. Legos, Tinker Toys, guitars, bongos, maracas, and stuffed animals are scattered everywhere. Clothes were pulled out of her armoire and her plastic play grocery cart was crammed with shoes. I thought some outside play would be great. Before I could suggest this, a beach ball came sailing over the stairs and broke one of my picture frames.

After a rousing three minute game of badminton the kids suggested we have cookies. Didn't they each eat two large pancakes less than two hours ago? I set out a plate of cookies, turned my back for milk, and the emply plate was spinning on the table! One of the parents phoned "Are they having fun?" "Yeah, we're having a great time, are you ready to have them back home?" "No, not really...." "Uh, ok, how about I send them home in about 20 minutes? Great see you then!" I quickly hung up the phone. "Ok guys your dad wants you back home in 20 minutes." This announcement was followed by "Awwwwwhhhhh, can't we stay more and play with sidewalk chalk?" The phone rang again, it was Jake's mom. "I'm finished with my errands, how goes it?" I told her great, and the house was full of kids. "Shall I bring my knitting?" Jake's mom was at my door in less than 10 minutes. She and I sat on the side porch enjoying coffee and banana bread. The kids were still inside now watching Casper.

After 30 minutes I made sure the kids looked both ways before crossing the street. I told Jakey's mom we had a late afternoon picnic to go to and Lo needed her bath. "Awwwhhhhh, can't I stay longer!" she pleaded. I kinda like this neighborhood thing.

DUNZO?????

2009-06-20T15:23:00.000-04:00

I'm not sure what's more annoying....watching Jon and Kate pimp out their children or the ongoing, inane TV cutesy chat concerning the amped up demise of their marriage? Why must I suffer yet another "TV celeb hottie talking head" with her shiny hair, blinding white teeth, push up bra, and power jewelry prattling on along with a teleprompter, chronicling the alleged affairs, emasculation, bitchiness, and child spanking in the driveway. "Is Kate cracking under pressure?"
"Does Kate spend too much time on her cell phone?" "Is Kate having an affair with her bodyguard?" "Are Kate and Jon Dunzo?" The new slang and verbage following this disaster is too much to bear! Oooohhh stay tuned Monday as Kate announced big changes!

I was never a fan of the show. I watched an episode several years ago and thought "Hey those kids are adorable, Wow! How do they do it?" My impression then turned to "Gee, she's bitchy!" and "He's kind of a doormat!" I felt more sorry for the kids than Kate or Jon. Were they asked to sign on season after season? Were they asked to be pimped out to the perverse curiosity of America? I get the novelty OK! A set of twins, then bang jackpot, jackpot again! Parenting is not all it's cracked up to be! I will be honest and say some days I wince at the word "mommy." Just as I'm sitting down with my husband, after a shitty day with a glass of wine. "Mommy!" Just as one of them finally goes down for a nap and the other is busy with a sharp pair of scissors and Super Glue. "Mommy!" Just as I, quietly as possible, turn the page of an outdated magazine. "Mommy!" It takes practice, patience, love, and lots of praying on my knees to simply not loose it and spiral into bitchy, overwhelmed, poor me, mommy mode.

None of us know Jon and Kate. We see hours of filming edited, spliced, only the juiciest bits delivered to us hot and fresh to our living rooms. Maybe she's not a bitch. If she is I will curtsy and proclaim she has every right to be with that many children. If Jon is a vapid, drooling punching bag of a man, I too shall give him some slack. Maybe he's not allowed to have a voice, maybe he does the best he can do? I can moderately guess they love their children and probably mean no malice to anyone.

I don't give a shit If they are "dunzo!" Affairs are a nasty sort and end up hurting all involved, even the most innocent ones. (Did he even have an affair? Being photographed with a female "friend" after hours, shutting down clubs is not the smartest move in hindsight. Dude, you're married with a ton of kids at home, isn't that where you should be?) I think about those kids several years from now. This will not be their parents shinning moment.

All I know and can loftily quip upon is MY mother-state-of-mind. Most days It's bliss! Most days I feel It's my calling. Most days I feel I'm getting the hang of it. Some days I'd like to go for a drive and not return. Some days I feel the weight of the world and would rather stay in bed. Some days I'd rather not have to brush teeth, change diapers, lug two small persons with me where ever I go. "Can't mommy use the bathroom! I need my privacy!"

A small twinge of guilt floods over me as I type that proceeding paragraph. OK, it passed! I LOVE MY CHILDREN and honestly can not imagine my wonderful, amusing, cartoonish, buffoonish, existence without them. I also have a husband who is an equal, who enjoys the rush of parenting, who sees this life at a bit of a different angle and gives me perspective and a chance to take my breath. We're dealt a certain hand and it's all in the playing. I've never had much of a poker face but do enjoy the game.

By The Hair of My Chinny Chin Chin

2009-06-17T10:27:00.000-04:00

Sean's at work. Lola is in pre K. Gibby is napping upstairs. I'm sitting in my sun room wondering what nonsensical verbage will magically pop out of my head and onto the screen? I'm listening to the sounds around me. The thunk thunk thunk tap of the keys under my fingers, the constant hum of the modem, the birds in the yard cheeping. I hear the garbage truck rounding the corner of Tulip Lane behind us.

I should surprise Sean and mow the lawn. I don't feel like dealing with the piles of dog poo in the backyard though. There's so much weeding to be done and I think I left a load of wet laundry in the washer from yesterday. I'm scratching my chin and feel...Whoa, what the...a CHIN HAIR? I'm freaked out and intrigued at the same time. Maybe this is my next calling..let the chin hair grow, of course there is just one! And it will amaze all across the land. Millions will come to see this chin hair wonder and its humble hostess. The blind will see, the lame will walk, all will speak their own language and all will understand (bathroom break, be right back.)

"We loose ourselves in the fog of everyday life." I just heard that on tv, an insurance commercial I think. So, back to my musings...Why on earth do you need to talk on your cell phone while walking the dog? I'm thinking about grilled lamb chops and a spinach salad for dinner tonight, throw in some goat cheese and cranberries and we're good to go. I should sign up for on line banking. Stinky Newman needs a bath. He just forced himself under the computer table and sent my coffee cup for a spin. He lays his head on the printer and then makes these incredibly loud swallow noises for about five minutes until he gets comfy.

Now I'm under assault from neighbors on both sides. Both are tackling their lawns with super sized mowers. A gorgeous breeze is now blowing and causing me to sneeze. I'm thinking about Lola, probably outside on the playground playing with her friends. When I picked her up yesterday she was busily making a sand pie. She was sitting in the sandbox with a red bucket between her knees, her blonde copper hair spilling into her eyes. "It's made with sand, grass, and this rock! Taste it, it's good!"

I just pulled three loaves of banana bread from the oven. When good bananas go bad! I usually add chocolate chips and a heavy splash of Myers Dark Rum for good measure.

Well, I should get back to reality, grab a shower, brush my teeth, groceries, errands, and find those tweezers.

Will Work For Sanity

2009-06-15T18:35:00.001-04:00

I need a job! I worked on my resume a bit over the weekend. I was layed off almost two years ago from a job I held for almost 10 years. It was a perverse, multi level den of dysfunction. A round about of tales, tattling, titillating weekend gossip that made it to the ears of every employee and was twisted so badly by the time the tale was spun that all were too involved to claim innocence!

I was a buyer/designer/manager and sales person for a furniture store; a mom and pop store run by a man so emotionally crippled that he needed to smoke lots of dope to face his life. He had two children, a toddler and a baby, and a wife of immense artistic talent who gave up her dream and her studio to become his concrete brick around his neurotic neck. When Bush was "elected" president, he bought land in Nova Scotia, stock piled canned goods, generators, and water thinking he very well could ride out the apocalyptic end eating beans and Spam.

His parents bankrolled his furniture empire and their threat of pulling the monetary plug daily plagued him. He would lurch into the building, not making eye contact with anyone, not even mumbling a hello or good morning. He would immediately chastise someone for a mistake and berate them for their stupidity. He felt every employee could be "made over, toughened up." He had an unhealthy, out of line sense of paternal devotion to the employees. He unleashed his rage on all. Many female sales reps would flee the building crying and vowing to never return. This is so outrageous it can't be fabricated!

There was a little break room in the back of the showroom resplendent with a dorm fridge, sink, table and chairs. He knew no bounds when it came to his hunger. Any leftovers or items that looked tasty were fair game to him. His wife subscribed to a macro biotic diet at home for the family, and any chance for him to stray from those morsels meant "guess who ate my lunch!" We witnessed him eat from a peanut butter jar with his nasty, heavily knuckled, dirty fingers. Customers would ask how he was, how the wife and kids were, making small talk. "Don't ask! We were up all night with the baby. Don't have kids man, it ruins your life!" He and his wife believed in attachment parenting, both kids in bed with them. They didn't believe in cribs loudly proselytizing they were nothing more than prisons and could very well damage the psyche of the wee charges.

Despite the miserable, ogre boss, I did indeed love my job! It was creative, complex and always entertaining. Clients became friends who would just drop in to say hello and update me on their families. I had several brushes with the famous rock stars and writers who call this area home. Famed writer Kurt Vonnegut bought furniture while teaching and wanted to then return it when his tenure was up. He didn't want any refund, just simply to return it to the store as he no longer had use for it. I had to explain the no return policy, which greatly confused him.

I've been a stay at home mother for almost two years now. This has been a luxury and a privilege. I have no hair left to pull out and when my stomach growls I look under the sofa cushions for leftover Goldfish Crackers! The postman is now leery of me and my inane small talk about the weather. He graciously waves from the sidewalk and says he has lots of mail to deliver today. I don't take this personally, me in my pajamas, bed head and morning breath, all too eager for some adult conversation. I think the FedEx woman is on to me now too.

I'd like to work again. Get the kids off to daycare where they can play with their friends and develop social skills. I'd like to wear my pretty clothes again and dive back into the world of problem solving, human interaction, and a paycheck! I'm working on my resume objective and think I finally have it:

Recently balding mother surviving on juice boxes and Cheerios seeking gainful employment where I can utilize my witty verbal skills, creativity and eyes in the back of my head senses to establish a sense of sanity, fulfilment, and a paycheck.

Go Ahead, Unwrap It

2009-06-13T14:24:00.000-04:00

Today I'm a big, whopping 41 years of age! Turning 40 last June was so exciting! I am not a woman who is afraid to age. I'm not afraid of wrinkles, age spots, or mental dementia. Though I am quite vain and guilty of the dog and pony show: makeup, clothes, all the smoke and mirrors to seem flawlessly ageless. Last year Sean and I celebrated my birthday in NY City. It was a perfect weekend and we arrived back in Massachusetts receiving a call from our case worker that a baby was legally free for adoption! Fast forward to Gibson who will celebrate his first birthday on the 15th! Another Gemini in the family!

This birthday is a bit more subdued. Gibson is upstairs napping and Sean and Lola are out buying party hats and horns for my wee celebration tonight. My only request, sushi and champagne. I didn't want any gifts, I have so much already. This confused Lola, aren't birthdays all about parties and loads of presents and cake and ice cream!?? My birthday thoughts evolved into what follows......

I've unwrapped myself many times. I undo the ribbon and strings, slide my finger under the tape and am always surprised at what I find nestled in the box.

I am sometimes beautiful, a rare gem looked upon with intake of breath. I am a puzzle, a challenge, a game to the receiver who wants to piece me together and make me whole. I am a coat, a cloak, dark in the shadowy night, hiding so as not to be discovered. I am a sponge absorbing other's pain. I am a salve hoping to heal. I am a child craving attention, wanting to jump in the morning's puddles. I am a little girl, see how pretty I am!

Sometimes I am only a dime store box with last years wrap. Do not fill me, but unfold me, shelve me in the closet.

My best gift is here...and now! To see, to feel, to live, to remember, to change, to create, to be greedy, to be envious, miserable, lonely, despondent, to be childlike, embraceable. Here to see beauty, to see death, to see the sun, to ponder at the moon. To hear the waves beating down on the sand, let me in! To feel the warmth, fullness, emptiness...to feel the struggle to take a breath...........To see the trees, to walk upon its leaves. To walk the ground, to taste the earth. To feel the sting, the trickle of my salty tears. To love so much that my heart does break.

Oh, how I ache.

I want to close my eyes, stop the spinning, all this beauty is too much, I want hush...

Blood pulsing in my ears, I want to be still for many years.

Yet, I want to be free, eyes open to roam. Let me rise up, this earth, my home.
I want to feel the dirt in my hands, smell the day as it began. Let me create. Let me try to accomplish in a day all that I may.

Let me smile, let me laugh, let me grieve for something that has passed. Let me put my arms around you, inhale your smell. Let me see into your eyes and know this, all of this is real.

And when I die and cease to wake, you are there beside me, as is fate.

Both Sweet And Bitter

2009-06-09T20:48:00.000-04:00

"How do you do it, how do you live your life to the fullest?" Sean had come home from another day of fighting the corporate suits and wasting almost two hours at a sexual harassment seminar for his staff. Lola was watching Scooby Doo in the computer/sunroom and Gibby was pulling Newman's fur. Newman is our beloved nut less wonder, our knuckle head of a mix of a mutt, a faithful old boy, arthritic in his hind legs, slow moving, unless it's a cat or food situation. Sean had spoken to his mom on the way home. His Dad's birthday is today. He would have been 66. Tom died in March of 1999 from a rare blood leukemia. He was a school administrator, health nut, voracious reader, baritone voice of clarity, and had recently retired.

"Don't most men live until at least in their 70's? Your dad is going to be 70. How do I do it, how do I live my life to the fullest?" I looked at my husband of a young 42, not wanting to picture my life without him, not wanting his children to only have memories of him. He sat in his favorite patina-ed red leather chair in the living room, now holding Gibby in his lap. My mind searched for the soothing, comforting, balm to ease his worries, to erase a long weary day. I am the comforter, the soother, I absorb all worries.

"Maybe it's just to live in the moment, take pleasure in your children and remember that this day, this hour is so fleeting." We are so caught up in our day to day. It's human nature to always look ahead, to worry, to plan. All the time saving, scraping, plotting, climbing, crawling, biting, forcing our way to somewhere, somewhere, but where? What about the memories, the physical love to one another, where does that go? Does it rise to the air, evaporate and then blanket us in our final hours? Are each of us mindful we are weaving this tapestry of love to pull over our shoulders, to warm our children, to grasp onto when we have nothing else?

It's not an answer. It's not a solution. I hope to see and live my life by my own advice to my husband. It's hardly possible, yet do able. One day, one hour, one minute. Seeing life as a journey, a struggle, an adventure not to be lived alone but shared with those in our lives, those that complete our tapestry.

Episcopalian Jokes, Ear Hair, And Cash

2009-06-06T18:06:00.000-04:00

"Why don't' Episcopalians have sex standing up?......because they're afraid they'll start dancing!" "Why don't Episcopalians have orgies? Because there would be too many Thank You notes to send!"

This is how I met my neighbors Mark and Amy. We were having a tag sale. Actually the Madison Circle Tag Sale. Sean and I decided this year we would participate and unload some stuff; junk, things never unpacked when we moved to Massachusetts from Annapolis Maryland. (That was eight years ago.) We sold lots of baby gear stuff, stereo equipment, Cds, just stuff collected over the years.

Tag sales are a unique thing. People sell their junk to other people who are not really looking for that chipped crock pot, but wow, it's only $5! People are an odd lot to begin with. Car after car pulled up. "Oh shit, they're in my azaleas!" "No, sorry, no antique rifles for sale." "Honey, who's the strange guy trying on that gauze skirt in our backyard?" He looked quite fetching in it, and I suggested a top to go with it. I was lightening my overloaded closets. I should have sold shoes and a bag to go with it.

10:30 was way too early for a glass of wine, so I settled for another cup of coffee. Lola was pumped up, running around the yard singing for the throngs of bargain hunters. "Mom, I just don't understand this? Why are these people buying our stuff?" "Shhhhhh honey, this is your college fund." Our neighbor next door was assaulted with scavengers who sojourned from our driveway to hers. Her name is Bunny. I'm guessing that's a nickname, she was selling lots of bunny paraphernalia. Bunnies on plaques, bunnies on ties, bunnies on picture frames, bunny ceramics playing golf, trimming the Christmas tree..collectible bunny stuff.

I saw a couple entering our driveway thru our backyard. Enter Mark and Amy. I was upstairs and saw them approaching Sean who was seated in a wicker rocker in the driveway overseeing the sale. "Any motorcycle helmets for sale?" Amy asked. "I know you ride and thought you might have one Mark could try out this weekend." Mark was the complete physical opposite of Amy. He was tall, willowy and had a knack for politically incorrect jokes. I learned more about him in seven minutes than I think should be legal in most states! I also learned his wife of six years did not drink, dance or have any preference in music. Mark was pouring over used Cds we were selling. He peppered his music scouring with one lesbian joke, two Episcopalian jokes, one knock knock joke, and then asked if I minded dirty jokes! (Kids, get in the house, mommy has to chase off a very strange man from our driveway!)

Amy had gone back to her house to drive her "motorcycle" over to our house to show Sean. It was an amphibian looking cycle with two large wheels in the front and one in the back, resembling a jet ski. She wanted Mark to ride it but he was leery, and needed a helmet. Mark was bouncing from one inane subject to the next and landed on hair. He said he was thinking about letting his ear hair grow long. "Oooh, Laurie Anderson, I saw her a few years ago and I was the only guy in the place with about five hundred lesbians all dressed in black." He was clutching a Laurie Anderson Cd and continued his vision concerning ear hair. "So, yeah, I want to grow it long so the Misses has something to hang onto!"

Thank God Amy pulls up in front of the house and every one's attention is diverted to the three wheel thing. We oohed and aahed for a bit and I sat on it for a virtual test drive. She had to return it to the dealership that afternoon so we said our goodbyes and nice to meet you to Amy as she rode away. We didn't have any helmets to sell so Mark walked home with a plastic grocery bag full of used, cheap Cds.

"Wow! what did you think of him?" I asked Sean. We were packing up the last bits of Cds and baby gear that hadn't sold. "I kinda liked him, he's goofy." "Yeah, me too. We should have them over for dinner some night. Let's make sure the kids are in bed early before he starts telling more jokes!"

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From The Tree

2009-06-04T09:55:00.000-04:00

I have the house to myself again. I've got loads of laundry to catch up on. I should grab the checkbook and mail out some bills. I should finish cleaning out the attic for the upcoming Madison Circle Yard Sale. My parents were here for a few days to celebrate my mom's 66Th birthday. Her birthday coincided with Gibson's baptism. Mom and dad are his godparents.

I wanted mom to have a special birthday. My two brothers live mere minutes from my parents in Pennsylvania. My oldest brother has six kids and is a bit busy with trying to keep a job and keep a household from imploding. My other brother has one daughter and likes to sit in his recliner and pretend the world doesn't exist. I call him my baby brother even though he is a year and two days older than me. How can I gently say they are both a bit spoiled and don't exactly think of ways to make my mom's birthdays special.

My parents have always seemed ageless. I think I've always had this vision because it shrouds me from the future. My mom is a very complex woman with a novel worthy history. Only years later has she shared these tales with me. Her father was a decorated soldier, a smoldering eyeful of a man, who left them for another woman when my mom was less than two years old. My grandmother stood her ground and told him he could not have his cake(trollop) and eat it too! Divorce in those days was a heavy stigma for a Catholic child and my mother always felt the scratchiness of the cloak she wore. Grammy worked tirelessly to support herself and mom. Cleaning office buildings, working in factories. My mother often would help her mother after hours in these life sustaining laborious efforts. Grammy often told mom "No matter what work you do, always do it with pride and to the best of your ability."

My mom was a dark haired beauty, much more sophisticated and older in appearance. These blessings were also her curse, bringing the attention of men. She had a lonely childhood with Grammy round the clock working. She would spend summers with relatives. Some of her stories are lighthearted, in the kitchen along side NaNo and NaNa baking, chasing chickens in the backyard. She was the rescuer of mangled cats and would nurse them back to heath. She was often seen pushing a baby pram with a cat tucked up to its little nose with a blanket and a baby bonnet around its head. There were other stories of wandering the neighborhood at night, looking into the windows of houses where inside the glow of family dinners together made her so despondent.

Years later, as a child I remember when Grammy would come from New York to visit us. She lived close to Yankee Stadium and had remarried. I remember my mom was so happy when Grammy stayed with us. They would spend hours in the kitchen cooking and baking and laughing, always laughing! Mother and daughter relationships are to me the most complex. There are so many layers to this wonder. I look into my mother's eyes and see this woman who has overcome so much, has raised four children, who is the proud grandmother of thirteen grandchildren, who is a beautiful grayish sixty six years of wisdom, aches and pains, perverse sense of humor, gourmand extraordinaire, published poet, nature communicator, secret keeper, partner in crime, book loving, coffee sipping, Scrabble champion, quiet deep in thought woman. I know she has more to say, but chooses not to. Not just yet. Bit by bit she is telling me her secrets, bit by bit I am discovering my mother and cracking the complex code.

Isn't It Good; Underwood

2009-05-27T11:56:00.000-04:00

It's not just a world famous typewriter used by crazies, poets, playwrights, elitists, kooks, gonzos, disheartened, disenfranchised, devalued, desireables, and whirling dervishes.

It's a "meat spread" in a can. An anonymous mash of mixed meats. Pop it open and smell the possibilities.

(that's all I got today folks!)

Explaining War To A Four Year Old

2009-05-25T12:09:00.000-04:00

Lola wanted to know if school was open today. "It's a home day babe." Her reply is a hearty "Wooo Hooo girlfriend!" I told her today is Memorial Day, a holiday. "You mean like Valentine Day or someones birthday?" "No, not really. This is a sad holiday for those who have lost loved ones in a war." I sometimes forget she's only four. I knew what her next question would be. "What's war?" "Well, do you know about soldiers or when your friends play shooter, and pretend they have guns, or when you play bad guy.......War is when people fight over.............Sometimes people are injured when they fight for........................It's to commemorate the death of those who have fought hard for us to have...................

How do I explain war to a four year old. How do I explain those who volunteered, or were drafted in the past. Those men and women who died to secure freedom, land, borders, rights, to make the life we live more secure? I've never considered myself patriotic. I've never really thought about Memorial Day as a holiday that had anything to do with me. Then 9/11 shook every single one of us to the core, laid us bare, scared us, made us fear each other, made us love each other. I used to say "I don't believe in war!" What a ridiculous utterance! What the hell was I thinking. Because of those who have given their lives, or more accurately, have had their lives taken, I can freely say those glib statements.

Thankfully, Lola's only experience with death was her discovery that Donut wasn't swimming in his usual spot on the kitchen window ledge the other morning. "Mom, remember Donut? Where is he?" "He wasn't swimming so well, he was just kinda floating, so I let him go swim in bigger water where he's happy." "Mom, can I have a Popsicle?"

I didn't explain Memorial Day as best I could for Lola. I don't seem to have the right words for her so she'll understand. She just wants to have a picnic and have Daddy grill some steak and kielbasa tonight. That's just what we're going to do, and have the glorious freedom to do it.

Chardonnay, Riesling And Reasoning

2009-05-25T11:18:00.000-04:00

I drank way too much last night. We finally hauled the wicker out of the basement and set up our side porch. It's our favorite spot in the summer. We have two sets of french doors, on either side of the fireplace that lead out to the porch. I love having those doors open in the morning, bringing fresh air and the songs of birds into the house. The view opens up to Poet's Seat Tower, a brick tower, castle like in appearance, on top of a mountain. It was named so because of a glut of local poets in our area around 1912. Fourth of July fireworks are set off from the tower every year. Really fantastic "WOW!" fireworks.

Back to the binge. A beautiful evening was unfolding. I had a pile of Gourmet and Bon Appetite dating back several months and Sean had a cigar. Lola was running back and forth to the porch to admire the hanging flower baskets we purchased earlier in the morning. "How about sushi tonight?" I was thinking the same exact thing at the same exact moment. Sean and I do this almost on a daily basis (not have sushi) think and then say out loud what the other was just thinking. Usually it's a song. I'll have an obscure song playing in my mind, for instance Smithereen's Cigarette; and the next instant he's singing it!

I was feeling quite relaxed after two, or maybe three glasses of Chardonnay Riesling blend. I was happily ripping out recipes and filing them in my binder. The sushi arrived and we continued our lazy evening on the porch. Gibson was noisily bouncing in his bouncy and Lo had joined us outside to color. Hours later, the kids are in bed. The sushi was fantastic. Hours later I was in bed. I remember bolting up from bed and bumping my way to the bathroom. Oh man did I feel hazy. Summer has a way of sneaking up on you. I'm paying for it today. I think later this evening I'll just stick with Gin & Tonic.

Better Fences

2009-05-20T14:26:00.000-04:00

My husband and I bought our house in 2001. It is situated on a circle in a quiet little part of town. The street is missed by most only because it leads to residential settings. My husband called me from a pay phone, he had forgotten his cell and said "I think we just found our house!" It was for sale by its current owners and the sign in the overgrown lawn attracted my husband like an Irishman to a pint. Sean knocked on the door. The owners seemed hesitant to sell and we wondered why the For Sale sign then? We toured the home three times and each time feeling the house wanting us as much as we wanting it. After pre approval and bank approval, copious amounts of paperwork..."Sign here and here, initial there and there, one last page..." we were finally the overjoyed, over anxious owners of a 1901 Colonial home.

We were the third family to inhabit this house. Two sisters, then in their 80s had lived there until one became ill. She died and her sister lonely for her companionship shortly joined her. The second family had several children and needed a house with a swimming pool for their convalescing son who needed physical therapy, the result of an aneurysm during a youth softball game. On the day of closing we drove up to our house only to see the family still moving out! As our locksmith was changing the locks, the children were carrying out their books and toys and giving us mournful looks. We stood on the sidewalk shivering in the December cold feeling as misplaced as them. They left behind a dreadful mess as well as several of their cats.

I asked Sean if he thought it odd there were so many cats wandering around the neighborhood, more precisely, our porch and front lawn. We pulled up outdated Imperial Blue shag carpet and hired workers to sand and varnish our floors. I received a call at work from one of the men. "Hey, it was pretty cold out so I let your cat in, it was crying at the front door." Through gritted teeth I explained that we did not have a cat and no, we did not want one! That night we crept up the stairs "Here kitty, here kitty?" We heard a pathetic meowwww and spotted the cat hunched in the corner of the room. We grabbed the stray fur ball and escorted it out the door. When the sun shines at just the perfect angle, you can see frantic kitty prints on our upstairs landing. It adds character to the home.

We had only to look to the right of our house to see the source of this kitty camp. An elderly couple had them streaming in and out of their house. Bowls of food and water were set out round the clock for their dining pleasure. This feline festival drove us nearly to the brink. The cats were rendezvousing in our yard, peeing all over the porches and finding their way into the garage and napping on our cars.

Tom was out in the yard gathering branches and twigs and absently piling them at the end of his driveway. He had odd little habits of saving bits of discarded junk and stockpiling them in his garage. These piles would artistically rise then topple over on themselves only to be rebuilt over and over again by him. I learned he was a retired physicist who had taught in Florida years before. I assumed he had brains and might bend his ear toward reasoning. "Hi, I'm your neighbor, I haven't had a chance to introduce myself." I extended my hand only to be regarded with a cold stare. "Wow, you do have lots of cats, I don't want to sound rude, but could you keep them off my porch?" He was dressed in a lined plaid shammy shirt and looked a bit like a twisted garden gnome, suspenders holding up his well worn denims. On his feet were navy blue slippers aged to a dingy grey, holes where his bare toes poked through. "If anything happens to these cats, I'll know who to blame!" "Look, It's just they never leave my yard and I was hoping you'd want them to stay in YOUR yard." He stepped closer, shuffling his slippers along the sidewalk. He had the audacity to raise his fists, boxer style and propel them at me. I was certain other neighbors were watching from behind their lace curtains, quickly aborting should their spy mission be realized.

Barbara, his wife heard the commotion and joined him at his side. "Tom! Stop that! Get in the house!" He dropped his fists but continued to pummel me with his expression. "Now! Tom!" His wife's voice broke his trance and he turned his body away from me, lumbering down the sidewalk. Several of his feline minions followed at his ankles. "I'm sorry, this really is an awful way to meet, I'm....." "He gets a bit overworked. I'm Barbara." I shook her paper thin hand. She was birdlike, tiny, frail, with a close curled head of white hair. She could barely stand, a Dowager's Hump on her back cruelly submitting her body low to the ground. She welcomed me to the circle and then retreated into her house.

In the ongoing months I felt I was being watched. I would look around, walking to the garage, shoveling sidewalks, bringing groceries into the house, the hair on the back of my neck would stand. Then I spotted her as she was spying on me. Another white haired elderly woman was watching me from her kitchen window. She didn't wave, nor did I, we just continued to stare at each other. This went on for a few more weeks until spring, she was sitting on her front porch. I introduced myself. She was in her mid 80s and was a widow. Her husband Edward died 15 year earlier, he worked for the railroad. Elenore had lived in this house for 22 years. She was quick witted and affectionate. She told me she awoke every morning at 6 to use the bathroom. "That Irritable Bowel Syndrome, can't eat salad." Her hair was always done in a white, blond confection. Her eyebrows always drawn on just so. "Don't over pluck!" dispensing beauty advice to me. She had a colorful assortment of clip on earrings to match her shirts. She preferred men's white dress shirts and would add a silk scarf or sweater vest. She thought it romantic that Sean and I shared our evenings on the side porch with candles and a glass of wine. She soon became my lunch partner who favored Pete's Seafood and their shrimp and pasta. She became family, spending Thanksgiving at our home. She became Lola's honorary Nana. Elenore's only daughter lived in Maryland and she was not blessed with a happy marriage, leaving Elenore bereft of grandchildren.

Elenore's upstairs tenant Dot, owned the house and was raising three teenagers and had kicked out her husband on her return from a solo trip to Cancun. We missed Tobey. He was the Zen Master of the charcoal briquette. On weekends he'd treat himself to a steak dinner, with Budweiser in hand and a KISS THE COOK apron snugly hugging his beer belly. He would wield his tongs like a skilled ninja. He had no hard feelings against us when our dog Newman bolted out the back door one twilight summer eve and grabbed raw steaks awaiting the open flame. Dot was going through some sort of revamping after kicking Tobey out. While I was unloading groceries she announced out her upper window "My psychic business is doing great!" She had taken to wearing her daughter's Led Zeppelin t shirt and a crimson velvet robe in near 90 degree weather. Dot said scarlet was a healing color and she'd love to read my fortune. She said she was helping her nursing home patients get in touch with their final destiny. The noon day sun bounced off her pentagram earrings as she bitched about Tobey, he didn't like to go out and go dancing. She found someone on vacation, someone new who made her feel young. She began listening to music many decibels more irritating than her kids.

Dot no longer lives above Elenore. She moved her new boyfriend in, then he left less than a year into their relationship. Dot sold the home to a new owner. Mike seems like a nice guy. He's done some painting to the place and landscaping. Under new ownership, Elenore's rent increased and she too felt the financial constraints. She worried aloud to me how she could afford rent and heating next winter. I helped her pack her boxes, looking around her apartment at the bare walls and naked hutch that held her photos and bowl of fake grapes. I too felt her emptiness of moving on.

What did my asparagus ever do to you?

2009-05-19T18:54:00.000-04:00

I need to rant! As far as issues are ranked, this is my biggie, numeral uno! Don't people know how to bag groceries!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I picked Lo up a bit early from pre school today. She's had a wracking cough and runny nose for a few days. She's started a slight ear and sinus infection. Not a bad track record, this being her first ear infection. We waited in the room for over 20 minutes for the doctor. "You're late!" Lola scolded Dr. Roberts. We had been playing with the blood pressure cuff and knee hammer thing when he wrapped on the door.

We left an hour later with a sticker and a prescription. Off to the grocery store. I had planned on making chicken alfredo with local asparagus and broccoli tossed together. "Mama can I have a donut?" "How about two Munchkins instead of a big donut? Wouldn't you rather have TWO Munchkins instead of one donut? This kid of mine is too smart. "Mama, I'd rather have a big donut because it's actually bigger!" She munched her two Munchkins as we made our way down the isles, Gibson dropping his pacifier along the way.

"Register 7 is open!" My lucky day. There is always a glut of loaded carts and impatient shoppers but nary more than three lanes open. I unload my groceries from the cart the way I think they should be bagged. I'm of the opinion this helps the bagger. I place all paper goods together, all freezer and dairy together, cleaning products usually last. I hand over my recycled, earth friendly totes and the bagging begins.

Lola had run off to sit in a motorized grocery cart, so my attention was diverted to her. "1! 2!"
She's always back to me before I hit 3. "Let's rock kid." I open Lo's door and have her climb in. I finish buckling Gibby and open the back of the Volvo to load the groceries in. In one tote bag are two small containers of Haagen Daz. In the next tote, a package of runny, drippy chicken breast, cottage cheese, sour cream, a can of chicken broth, tomato paste, a bag of apples, and fresh cut pineapple. "Where is my asparagus?" I say out loud. I look in the third tote bag. A Tinkerbell Pez dispenser for Lola, babyfood, and the grocery receipt. "Where the hell......." I look again inside bag #2. There lay the carnage. My asparagus was smooshed under the dairy, canned stuff and runny chicken. I see myself dragging the kids back in and waving a baseball bat at the manager.

I've never seen myself as a crank............ I must phone this store several times a month and complain about their bagging. It, of course never comes to any satisfaction. I have learned my lesson. From now on I bag my own groceries. When the cashier says " We have baggers, the manager wants us to bag all groceries," I'll reflect on that day and imagine how that asparagus must have suffered.

F bomb anyone?

2009-05-16T19:20:00.001-04:00

Lola dropped the F bomb today. She occasionally peppers her speech with "shit." As in " Shit, why won't this stupid baby stand!" We were having a tea party today while Gibson slept. "This fucking cup is tipping!" She was pouring water into a porcelain cup while we played waitress at the coffee table. "What did you say?!" "Sorry mama...."

Ah, the woven tapestry of speech. So colorful, so dynamic. I had to hide my smirk. Yes I was appalled at her choice of expression and thought "Damn it Sean, watch what you say around her!" I can't blame it on Sean. I know it wasn't me, maybe she gleaned it from a cereal commercial or Sponge Bob? I bet it was one of her neer do well Pre school playmates. Now I know what they talk about among themselves while swinging and playing in the sandbox
"Mommy is such a F-er for not letting me have another Popsicle before I went night night!'
"Daddy is such a F-er for reading that same stupid bunny book night after night to me!" From the mouth of babes!

I schooled Lola on the rights and wrongs of well placed curse words. Teachers might think mommy and daddy talk that way at home. Not every occasion calls for such flowery, verbose language, and most importantly...ladies NEVER, EVER use that kind of language.

The Electronic Babysitter

2009-05-14T15:18:00.000-04:00

Have you seen the commercial for the Topsy Turvy Tomato planter? You simply plant the growth in the hanging container and watch luscious, ripe, juicy tomatoes appear. From the commercial, you hang this thing upside down on your porch. I love how they show how easy it is and how much back breaking farm work you'll avoid by sending in $19.95. Clips of Amish Farmers and their overworked brood are shown in fields lugging baskets of tomatoes. The poor little tyke's hands are bleeding from such manual labor. (This clip really isn't seen, it would appear more convincing...marketing was my second calling.)

Then there's the toothpaste tube gadget holder for a more even, perfect blob of toothpaste on your brush every time! Lola urgently agreed the other morning we should have that in our bathroom. She suggested we get one to match "our decor." Television is so enriching for my kids. Great vocabulary builder.

TV has introduced Lola to Go-Gurt, Yo Gos, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and how to punch her pre school friend in the gut. Hats off to Spongebob Square Pants and the episode where Flats, the new classmate beats the crap out of Spongebob. A hand written note scrawled at the bottom of her report card notified me of this. Did I want to speak to her teacher about it, the note asked?

Lo's two favorite commercials as of this week, Snuggie and Cinnamon Toast Crunch. When either of those two are on she screams for me to watch it together. When she gets a few years older that will be us watching a Lifetime Network movie about teens and drugs and the terrible downward spiral of the cheerleader who ends up prostituting herself in the KFC parking lot. The Snuggie commercial is a bit disturbing. The actors clad in those robes look as if they're about to severe someones head and offer it to the mothership.

I have glorious memories of TV as a kid. My parents had a huge console style. They still do. My father added several slight modifications over the years. The tubes finally went bad and they were forced to buy another TV....and get this....he removed the old set and placed the new TV in the console! I remember watching WPIX, Dialing For Dollars, Chiller Theatre with the numerous fingered hand coming out of the ground and grabbing at the lettering. I loved Batman, Happy Days, all the great cartoons like Scooby Doo, Josie and The Pussycats, wow, Land Of The Lost, the Hanna Barbara empire that dominated my Saturdays.

What I don't remember is my parents telling me to turn it off or "you're watching too much!"
I do recall my mom telling my brothers not to sit too close. "Sit back, do you want to be sterile?"
Sunday night we would watch Walt Disney and Animal Kingdom then take baths and go to bed. I still can smell my bath soap. It was a Christmas gift when I was about 5. It came packaged in a school bus and the soaps were shaped like little kids.

A neighbor has been coming over in the evenings, just before dinner, un announced with her little boy. I'm usually getting Lola unwound from her day at school, cooking dinner, giving Gibson his dinner when I hear the doorbell. Of course the TV is on, beaming its seductive glow out the living room windows onto the street. Lola's little friend adores her, but because the TV is on and larger than life, 41 inches I think? He starts to drool. He is mesmerized. He falls into a catatonic state and stops blinking. I find myself saying "Oh that damn TV drives me crazy! I turn it on once in a while for her as a treat." By now the clouds should part and a bolt of lightning should find its way down my chimney and smote me for lying.

Why am I embarrassed that the TV takes up almost half my living room? What's so wrong with TV? You see the bumper stickers all the time KILL YOUR TELEVISION. I bet those hybrid car driving, Whole Foods shopping, mom and pop business supporters unload their organic groceries and sit down to share a meal in front of the TV! HA!

When Lo and Gibson and I are together, yes the TV may be on at times. I'm a news junkie. I do prefer music to TV background noise any day. I don't follow any of the popular shows. Idol, Lost, the dancing show my mother in law loves, the one with the celebs. I don't have a series I have to watch. "I'm so sorry to hear about your upcoming lung transplant and no donors, but I really have to go Grey's Anatomy is on!"

Lola loves spooky movies. She gets that gore gene from me and her Grammi. She snuggles with daddy in the leather chair and watches until it gets too creepy. She and I watch classic Disney movies together. She still craves sitting in my lap. Her teachers marvel at her expressive language and vocabulary. I'd like to think her parents have something to do with that. I was making dinner last night, she ran into the kitchen about to burst. "Mom, mom, the commercial said to ask your parents. Can we get it, can we get it, it would be so cool!"

Operators are standing by. Act now and we'll send you two for the price of one!

Just a few photos from time to time

2009-05-13T09:13:00.000-04:00

I've been thinking about Gisselle a lot lately. Mother's Day was sweet for me. Lola picked out a silk lei and a very grown up card for me. Sean was trying to show her cards with cute babyish motifs, thinking those were more representative of her. She insisted on a more ornate card and the lei which she calls an "ooohlah."

Lola's pre school friend had a birthday party Sunday morning at the Y in the gymnastics room. It's pretty much the same set up. The parents arrive with wound up kids in tow, then stand around not really talking, watching or photographing their kids running around working up a sweat. Lola and I jumped around on the trampoline until her ponytail burst forth, hair getting tangled in the wad of gum she was chewing on. We both climbed into the foam pit with the other kids and swung on the rope until our hands were raw. I think I end up having more fun than most of the junior invitees!

We met with some friends for a lovely Mother's Day brunch and everyone around our table wore the ooohlah. Lola made several dizzying trips to the dessert table and prided herself on heaping strawberries onto her fine china. I held my breath every time she wobbled back to our table. After a brunch burn off walk, I was surprised by flowers and plantings on the front porch. It was a very sweet Mother's Day.

I was thinking how Gisselle was spending the day. Was she thinking about it, she must have been. I feel certain her mother was thinking about it. Gisselle is the birth mother of our adopted son Gibson. I can only imagine she felt how I felt after my first miscarriage. I was five months along, we had named our baby. Then everything disappeared, floated away like a balloon. That first mother's day after the loss I though I would go mad. I wanted to drown in my tears and wallow in the heartbreak. That was something I could hold, cradle to my breast.

I'm gathering photos that have spanned almost a full year of Gibson's life with us. He will be a year old June 15th. A year already? These photos are going to be mailed to Gisselle. Every two months I e-mail her and ask her if she'd like updates of Gibby and pictures. She had never said no. I bought a beautiful baby book and had planned to personalize it for her with the pictures. Is she celebrating his life like we are? Does she want some sort of glossy, cutesy reminder of what she couldn't keep? From what we know of her, she wouldn't display the album on her coffee table. I imagine she keeps his photos in a box, under her bed. That's what I did after my loss. The sympathy cards, the post mortem photos of the baby the hospital took and gave me, along with her baby knit cap, all crammed in a generic manila envelope.

I have to remind myself this isn't a sad story. I will be selfish and say it is not. Not for us. Maybe not everyday for Giselle either. She has given us the most amazing gift of HER CHILD. Sean and I still marvel at this. Why us? What was it about us? She chose us from seven other families and then narrowed that lottery down to us and another family. She met us, spent time with us and never bothered to interview the others.

Never in our wildest fantasies did we ever dream we would have this amazing family, a multi racial family. We knew we wanted a boy, never imagined getting pregnant would be so difficult, never knew we would have such a devastating loss, never thought there would arise pregnancy complications and five months doctor ordered bed rest for me, never dreamed we would be amazed, knock off our feet by these kids.

I resist the path layed out for me. No matter how hard I try, things just happen and take me by surprise. I'm starting to believe this is all predestined. We were meant to meet, Sean and I. There are many cosmic levels to how that was forced upon us. That's another story for some other time. We were meant to have all the joys and sorrows in our life and those yet to come. We were destined to be the parents of Gibson Alexander. Lola was destined to have this snaggle toothed, little frizzy fro of a baby brother. I'm going to gather the pictures together for Gisselle, and for respect and love and admiration for her, I'm going to let her choose if she wants to show him off someday in a photo album.

No underwear to wear?

2009-05-12T11:21:00.000-04:00

I warned my husband this little scenario that played out last night would be MY FIRST BLOG ENTRY! (felt great to type that one!)

I have spent the greater part of two days reading other writer's blogs and figuring out how to set one up. I called a domain service and spent over $250 for rights and hosting! I shouted out a triumphant WOO HOO! and then panicked at what I had just spent! Oh wow, I had just committed to something and paid for it! I'm a typical Gemini who has too many interests and too many undone projects haunting me. My dining room table is the recipient of those projects left undone.

By then it was late afternoon and I needed to run some errands. Sean needed new underwear and I wanted to replace a set of wine glasses. Only two were left from a set of eight. Why do wine glasses break in a sequence of three? I had yet to shower or even brush my teeth, so caught up in this blogging thing.

I called the domain provider back and said "Hi, I just set up an account this morning but I've changed my mind. See, my friends on Facebook feed my vanity by suggesting I start a blog." I was trying to let the tech down easy as if he were my stylist who had caught me getting color and cut from another salon. "Well, that's certainly not a problem, but you should really keep this package. You'll have lots of reader traffic and this package certainly supports it." "From your lips to God's ears!" I mused.

He refunds my card and I feel guilty I almost spent that money on writing! Gibson is crawling around the kitchen floor happily gnawing on an ant trap. Crap! Kids! I have kids! A time warp has me starring in disbelief at the clock. 4:30 and it's time to pick Lola up from preschool. I haven't done any laundry or domestic goddess stuff , all consumed by blogging. Funny thing is, I hadn't written one single word....just trying to set up a blog page!

Fast forward to about 7:30. Sean's home from work. "I think something is wrong with the computer?" Every time I tried to create a blog page the system would tell me I was working off line. "I wish you wouldn't do this kind of stuff without someone who knows how to do it! You probably picked up a virus!" I was shoveling spoonfuls of carrots into Gibby's mouth. In my best whiny, invisible, neglected Mommy tone I said "Hey, this is something I need to do for myself. This is really important to me and I enjoy writing!" "That's fine but I told you I need underwear for tomorrow, don't you get enjoyment out of buying me underwear?" That last line delivered with his best jovial tone.

We had a glass of wine and scooted the kids to bed. It's now the next day, and yes, he had clean underwear. I'll repeat my WOO HOO!