So every time I sit down to write a blog, there is a crisis of some sort. Not the terrible serious kind, but more of the someone-is-crying-in-another-room-because-someone-else-has-decided-it-would-be-a-good-idea-to-jump-off-of-a-bed-onto-somone-else variety. I am behind. No one ever seems to notice whether I blog or not except for my mom, who calls when I get too far behind so she can check on the status of her grandmonsters.
Butterflies: we kept them for 3 days and then released them into the yard. Five caterpillars became 5 butterflies so that was a success. And it was also so long ago now that I can't really write articulately about it. Butterflies are free.
Jude started school on Wednesday. This began as a glorious morning of Jude crying, saying, "I don't want to go." Jeff was out of town for work so I took Jude and stayed with him until all of the first graders lined up and headed down the hall toward his class. He never even looked back.
Then I drove to work and cried. I'm not even quite sure why, except that first grade was even more difficult than kindergarten for both of us.
In the afternoon, I was nervous about picking Jude up from school, worried about whether he enjoyed himself. He threw himself at me, wrapped his arms around my neck and said "I loved today."
Oh, Jude.
He is loving the first grade and every day has said that he had a great day.
Sullivan, on the other hand, is trying to squeeze every last tantrum he can out of his two-year-oldness. He knows he only has a few weeks so he wants to get maximum crying and screaming done before he turns 3.
There. I've been able to finish this. And hope this next week proves to be better all-around.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Me, J and the Bear
Last night it was just the three of us; Jude went to a party at a friend's house and he spent the night. Sully didn't even seem to notice that Jude wasn't there until it got close to bathtime. Then Sully toddled through the house in just his diaper saying "Jude. Jude. Jude." I had to break it to him that Jude wasn't coming home that night. He looked sad for a moment and then brought me a bag of popcorn and smiled his sweet little Sully Bear smile at me and I made the popcorn for him.
We sat on the couch, Jeff, Sully and I, and read a book about potty trainer (Sully's choice). He knows all about the potty. Has seen the potty. Has seen everyone else in the house use the potty. Has studied the potty. Has flushed the potty. But he does not want to use the potty.
But last night wasn't about the potty. It was about Sully getting undivided attention from both parents at the same time. This is a rarity, I know.
Sully ate it up, just has he ate the popcorn. "You're partying like a rock star," I told him as it grew later and later, past his bedtime. He smiled and set popcorn on the couch, eating it up like a dog. Ah, Sully Bear, you are a cute little devil.
This morning, Jude came home with tales of his adventures at his friend's house. He has reached an age where he would rather play with friends than with Mommy and Daddy and sometimes that can be hard to take. He is growing up so fast.
Speaking of growing, our first butterfly has hatched. She (I know nothing of butterfly gender, but to me the butterfly looks like a she) is waiting for her friends to hatch. I am enjoying watching them because I know all too soon it will be time to set the butterflies free. Until then, I can love them and nurture them.
And occasionally let them party like rock stars.
We sat on the couch, Jeff, Sully and I, and read a book about potty trainer (Sully's choice). He knows all about the potty. Has seen the potty. Has seen everyone else in the house use the potty. Has studied the potty. Has flushed the potty. But he does not want to use the potty.
But last night wasn't about the potty. It was about Sully getting undivided attention from both parents at the same time. This is a rarity, I know.
Sully ate it up, just has he ate the popcorn. "You're partying like a rock star," I told him as it grew later and later, past his bedtime. He smiled and set popcorn on the couch, eating it up like a dog. Ah, Sully Bear, you are a cute little devil.
This morning, Jude came home with tales of his adventures at his friend's house. He has reached an age where he would rather play with friends than with Mommy and Daddy and sometimes that can be hard to take. He is growing up so fast.
Speaking of growing, our first butterfly has hatched. She (I know nothing of butterfly gender, but to me the butterfly looks like a she) is waiting for her friends to hatch. I am enjoying watching them because I know all too soon it will be time to set the butterflies free. Until then, I can love them and nurture them.
And occasionally let them party like rock stars.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Waiting for the Grow
I saw Samuel Beckett's play Waiting for Godot when I was in college. That was a perfect college-age activity. Spoiler: if you haven't seen Godot, don't worry, neither did they. It is a LONG wait. Trust me: you don't plan to see it anyway. Because you are a grown up now. Grown ups don't have time for 6 hour plays about philosophical matters.
Grown ups don't discuss philosophy or see lengthy Beckett plays because they do not have time. They are too busy driving fast, sipping coffee and honking their car horns at people who are too busy sipping coffee to drive fast. (Okay, I do drive too fast on occasion, but never drink coffee because it is icky and never honk my horn because it feels rude to me.) Nevertheless, I am a grown up. Busy.
Still, last week I came home from work in a hurry because I knew my bugs were due to arrive. No, that isn't some clever euphemism (and if it is, I wouldn't have the first clue what it means!). I had a small cardboard box waiting for me that had the words "Live Insects: Open Immediately" printed on the side. And I was excited. Who wouldn't be?
My live insects weren't really mine. For his birthday, Jude received a "butterfly garden" which is a lovely mesh habitat for butterflies. Inside the box was a coupon to redeem our live caterpillars. Caterpillars? Live? Okay.
So for a minimal shipping and handling charge (very reasonable, I thought, for $3.00 to ship live critters through the mail) we received our live caterpillars. They came in a small plastic container with holes punched in the lid and lots of food. Our critters didn't move at all the first day and we spied 5 caterpillars (3 of which, we were guaranteed, would become butterflies). Three of these caterpillars moved about, eating their food and ignoring the human hands that would pick up the container, peek in and then gently set them back on the counter in the kitchen where they were living next to the toaster.
The caterpillars lived in their tiny plastic, sealed habitat for about a week. Then, suddenly there were five caterpillars hanging upside down from a thin piece of paper attached to the bottom side of the lid. Oh, goodness. Where did they all come from?
Within two days, there were five little caterpillar homes attached to the roof of their container. Now it was time to move the critters into their new (temporary) home.
Jeff, Jude and I sat on the kitchen floor and carefully opened the tiny container. The directions stated to "pin the paper disc to the lower inside wall of the butterfly habitat." Huh? Pin? Safety pin? Straight pin? Pin and tonic?
I am purportedly a grown up, but I had nary a safety pin in the house so Jeff and I fashioned a pin from a paper clip and helped the critters into their home. I placed the container up on the wall, out of reach of little hands. This was 2 days ago; now we wait.
The butterflies should emerge 5 to 8 days from now where they can be observed and fed, and then released into the wild. It has been an interesting learning experience thus far for Jude, but also for me. I'm not comfortable with house guests and when I was vacuuming up cracker crumbs from the floor, I worried for a moment that the noise might bother the not-yet-butterflies. I can't even begin to imagine how this metamorphosis occurs; I only know the "before" stage right now.
I can't wait to see the "after" stage.
The caterpillars have been very good over all. Well behaved. They are the hairiest house guests I've ever had, but they are also the quietest.
I've never been one to fully embrace nature with open arms, but I am letting it in a bit. But when it comes time to release the butterflies out into nature (which I guess it anywhere outside out house), I'm going to secretly name two of them Vladimir and Estragon. Just because I can.
Grown ups don't discuss philosophy or see lengthy Beckett plays because they do not have time. They are too busy driving fast, sipping coffee and honking their car horns at people who are too busy sipping coffee to drive fast. (Okay, I do drive too fast on occasion, but never drink coffee because it is icky and never honk my horn because it feels rude to me.) Nevertheless, I am a grown up. Busy.
Still, last week I came home from work in a hurry because I knew my bugs were due to arrive. No, that isn't some clever euphemism (and if it is, I wouldn't have the first clue what it means!). I had a small cardboard box waiting for me that had the words "Live Insects: Open Immediately" printed on the side. And I was excited. Who wouldn't be?
My live insects weren't really mine. For his birthday, Jude received a "butterfly garden" which is a lovely mesh habitat for butterflies. Inside the box was a coupon to redeem our live caterpillars. Caterpillars? Live? Okay.
So for a minimal shipping and handling charge (very reasonable, I thought, for $3.00 to ship live critters through the mail) we received our live caterpillars. They came in a small plastic container with holes punched in the lid and lots of food. Our critters didn't move at all the first day and we spied 5 caterpillars (3 of which, we were guaranteed, would become butterflies). Three of these caterpillars moved about, eating their food and ignoring the human hands that would pick up the container, peek in and then gently set them back on the counter in the kitchen where they were living next to the toaster.
The caterpillars lived in their tiny plastic, sealed habitat for about a week. Then, suddenly there were five caterpillars hanging upside down from a thin piece of paper attached to the bottom side of the lid. Oh, goodness. Where did they all come from?
Within two days, there were five little caterpillar homes attached to the roof of their container. Now it was time to move the critters into their new (temporary) home.
Jeff, Jude and I sat on the kitchen floor and carefully opened the tiny container. The directions stated to "pin the paper disc to the lower inside wall of the butterfly habitat." Huh? Pin? Safety pin? Straight pin? Pin and tonic?
I am purportedly a grown up, but I had nary a safety pin in the house so Jeff and I fashioned a pin from a paper clip and helped the critters into their home. I placed the container up on the wall, out of reach of little hands. This was 2 days ago; now we wait.
The butterflies should emerge 5 to 8 days from now where they can be observed and fed, and then released into the wild. It has been an interesting learning experience thus far for Jude, but also for me. I'm not comfortable with house guests and when I was vacuuming up cracker crumbs from the floor, I worried for a moment that the noise might bother the not-yet-butterflies. I can't even begin to imagine how this metamorphosis occurs; I only know the "before" stage right now.
I can't wait to see the "after" stage.
The caterpillars have been very good over all. Well behaved. They are the hairiest house guests I've ever had, but they are also the quietest.
I've never been one to fully embrace nature with open arms, but I am letting it in a bit. But when it comes time to release the butterflies out into nature (which I guess it anywhere outside out house), I'm going to secretly name two of them Vladimir and Estragon. Just because I can.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Blogging is Cheapter Than Therapy
So if you made it through my last post and are still here (and I don't assume that you are, but if you are, "Hi"), well this is going to continue. I like writing here, whether anyone reads this or not.
I don't have cancer or any severed limbs, so I am feeling better. Oh and I quit my shrink so that gives me hope. Hope. What a bitch that is.
From browsing other blogs, I have picked up on the fact that people blog about all sorts of stuff: kids, hobbies, life. I love talking about my kids and my hobby is writing but the thought of writing about writing just seems odd to me.
So from now on, just going to write whatever comes to mind. I would love to say that it will all be high brow tomes about life and love and religion and politics, but umm, no.
As a disclaimer, I must say that I was raised with manners and with a certain sense that there are things that you just don't talk about. Well, those are the things that interest me the most. I am an introverted little emotion ball of neuroses, but my mind is ever active.
I love to write, but I don't keep a journal. I have, off and on, but I don't really have the discipline to write in it every day. So I will write here when I want. Won't write when I don't.
And writing just about my brain has exhausted me. The fact that there are chemicals inside one's brain that cause changes in mood and emotion even moreso than external factors but other things fascinate me, too. I start a new medication tomorrow. I am hoping it will cut down on the whole crying at work thing.
Today is my anniversary. Since I am such a giver, I will admit that it is Jeff's anniversary too. I love my husband. I could stick a whole string of byperbole in here, fawning about how super marriage is and how my husband farts rainbows and life is beautiful all the time, but of course that isn't true. Instead, I will say that marriage is wonderful. And hard. It is comforting and challenging and it is good. Nine years we have been married. I will say that after being married to Jeff for 9 years, I want to keep knowing him. Want to learn more about him. Really wish he would tell me his last name.
It won't always be pretty, this blog, but like my marriage, it will endure through good and bad. And look at it this way: if you made it all the way through the PMS post unscarred, then you're in pretty good shape.
And sometimes that is the most anyone can hope for.
I don't have cancer or any severed limbs, so I am feeling better. Oh and I quit my shrink so that gives me hope. Hope. What a bitch that is.
From browsing other blogs, I have picked up on the fact that people blog about all sorts of stuff: kids, hobbies, life. I love talking about my kids and my hobby is writing but the thought of writing about writing just seems odd to me.
So from now on, just going to write whatever comes to mind. I would love to say that it will all be high brow tomes about life and love and religion and politics, but umm, no.
As a disclaimer, I must say that I was raised with manners and with a certain sense that there are things that you just don't talk about. Well, those are the things that interest me the most. I am an introverted little emotion ball of neuroses, but my mind is ever active.
I love to write, but I don't keep a journal. I have, off and on, but I don't really have the discipline to write in it every day. So I will write here when I want. Won't write when I don't.
And writing just about my brain has exhausted me. The fact that there are chemicals inside one's brain that cause changes in mood and emotion even moreso than external factors but other things fascinate me, too. I start a new medication tomorrow. I am hoping it will cut down on the whole crying at work thing.
Today is my anniversary. Since I am such a giver, I will admit that it is Jeff's anniversary too. I love my husband. I could stick a whole string of byperbole in here, fawning about how super marriage is and how my husband farts rainbows and life is beautiful all the time, but of course that isn't true. Instead, I will say that marriage is wonderful. And hard. It is comforting and challenging and it is good. Nine years we have been married. I will say that after being married to Jeff for 9 years, I want to keep knowing him. Want to learn more about him. Really wish he would tell me his last name.
It won't always be pretty, this blog, but like my marriage, it will endure through good and bad. And look at it this way: if you made it all the way through the PMS post unscarred, then you're in pretty good shape.
And sometimes that is the most anyone can hope for.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
How Are You?
DISCLAIMER: Seriously, you shouldn't read this. None of it. Especially if you think the answer is "fine." And you if are male (as half of my reader(s) are) you may want to stop right now. I warned you. You don't want to go any further. You have only yourself to blame.
Of course if someone asks me today "How are you?" I will endeavor to be polite and do the right thing and say "fine" which is what everyone wants to hear. They do not want to hear "pretty frickin' far from fine" which is how I would describe someone who just spent half an hour hiding in the shower, crying in deep despair.
WARNING: GO AHEAD AND STOP READING RIGHT NOW
I already know that it is PMS. I also know for the next few days, I won't want to see anyone. Talk to anyone. Interact with people at all. That I will cry. Scream. Throw things. I've done all this already this morning and it is barely noon.
I've had periods since I was 11. I am 36. It has always been a nightmare, but since having the children, it has only gotten worse. I complained of this to my ob/gyn after having Jude and she put me on antidepressants. I functioned and stay on them until deciding to get pregnant again.
I was depressed after both babies, depressed about being home all the time getting no sleep and then even more depressed when I had to go back to work. But I functioned.
And the PMS got worse and worse. I went back to the ob/gyn who put me back on Effexor, which didn't work at all. Then I went to my family doctor who put me on Lexapro, which didn't work at all. Then I went to a psychiatrist who put me on high doses of Lexapro, which did lessen the PMS symptoms as well as any other feelings I had and it took my libido away completely. Because of who and what I am, this was not acceptable.
Then the testing for ADD. A new med: Vyvanse, which offered great concentration and focus. So I complained about the lack of libido and got off of Lexapro. The psychiatrist told me that because of my "generalized anxiety disorder" that I will likely end up going back on Lexapro, even though I told him I hated it because of the aforementioned lack of a sex drive, which was very problematic for me and made me feel very unlike myself.
Of course my psychistrist does know me very well. After all, we spend 10 to 15 minutes together every month so that he can write me a prescription for the Vyvanse and then take a "wait and see" approach with the whole PMS/depression thing. So every month I go visit him, feel fine that day and then a few days later become so down that I cry at my desk at work, cry at home (though I try not to let the boys see that too much, they see it far too much) and generally don't want to see anyone. I am convinced that no one talks to me because no one likes me.
Then, after days and days of this, I suddenly get over it. Feel better. Act better. Engage people on conversations again just in time to see my psychiatrist again who will overcharge me for 10 minutes of his precious time.
Apparently "generalized anxiety disorder" means exactly the same thing as PMS Apparently I have tied and failed to get the doctors to understand how I feel. The psychiatrist even mentioned that some of his patients take Prozac for 10 days out of the month. I said "Great, let's try that." He said we would talk about it at our next $90.00 -- I mean at our next visit.
Meanwhile, here I am. Crying. Blogging about crying. Upset. Frustrated and utterly hopeless. That is what I feel. Endless hopelessness that drags on for day after day. Dark thoughts and mood swings. And it isn't like people don't know. My family lived with me. My husband lives with me. I had college roommates and friends and I have children and coworkers and doctors and now the three people who read this blog will know my stupid little secret. I am a raging, upset, crying mess of a human being.
But hey, in a few days I'll be okay again and we can just pretend that this never happened. And this time next month, I'll go back to not blogging and crying in secret and just accepting the engulfing black hopelessness that arrives again and again. And today I'll go out to my brother's house and see people and pretend that I am okay and should anyone ask how I am, I'll of course answer "fine."
Of course if someone asks me today "How are you?" I will endeavor to be polite and do the right thing and say "fine" which is what everyone wants to hear. They do not want to hear "pretty frickin' far from fine" which is how I would describe someone who just spent half an hour hiding in the shower, crying in deep despair.
WARNING: GO AHEAD AND STOP READING RIGHT NOW
I already know that it is PMS. I also know for the next few days, I won't want to see anyone. Talk to anyone. Interact with people at all. That I will cry. Scream. Throw things. I've done all this already this morning and it is barely noon.
I've had periods since I was 11. I am 36. It has always been a nightmare, but since having the children, it has only gotten worse. I complained of this to my ob/gyn after having Jude and she put me on antidepressants. I functioned and stay on them until deciding to get pregnant again.
I was depressed after both babies, depressed about being home all the time getting no sleep and then even more depressed when I had to go back to work. But I functioned.
And the PMS got worse and worse. I went back to the ob/gyn who put me back on Effexor, which didn't work at all. Then I went to my family doctor who put me on Lexapro, which didn't work at all. Then I went to a psychiatrist who put me on high doses of Lexapro, which did lessen the PMS symptoms as well as any other feelings I had and it took my libido away completely. Because of who and what I am, this was not acceptable.
Then the testing for ADD. A new med: Vyvanse, which offered great concentration and focus. So I complained about the lack of libido and got off of Lexapro. The psychiatrist told me that because of my "generalized anxiety disorder" that I will likely end up going back on Lexapro, even though I told him I hated it because of the aforementioned lack of a sex drive, which was very problematic for me and made me feel very unlike myself.
Of course my psychistrist does know me very well. After all, we spend 10 to 15 minutes together every month so that he can write me a prescription for the Vyvanse and then take a "wait and see" approach with the whole PMS/depression thing. So every month I go visit him, feel fine that day and then a few days later become so down that I cry at my desk at work, cry at home (though I try not to let the boys see that too much, they see it far too much) and generally don't want to see anyone. I am convinced that no one talks to me because no one likes me.
Then, after days and days of this, I suddenly get over it. Feel better. Act better. Engage people on conversations again just in time to see my psychiatrist again who will overcharge me for 10 minutes of his precious time.
Apparently "generalized anxiety disorder" means exactly the same thing as PMS Apparently I have tied and failed to get the doctors to understand how I feel. The psychiatrist even mentioned that some of his patients take Prozac for 10 days out of the month. I said "Great, let's try that." He said we would talk about it at our next $90.00 -- I mean at our next visit.
Meanwhile, here I am. Crying. Blogging about crying. Upset. Frustrated and utterly hopeless. That is what I feel. Endless hopelessness that drags on for day after day. Dark thoughts and mood swings. And it isn't like people don't know. My family lived with me. My husband lives with me. I had college roommates and friends and I have children and coworkers and doctors and now the three people who read this blog will know my stupid little secret. I am a raging, upset, crying mess of a human being.
But hey, in a few days I'll be okay again and we can just pretend that this never happened. And this time next month, I'll go back to not blogging and crying in secret and just accepting the engulfing black hopelessness that arrives again and again. And today I'll go out to my brother's house and see people and pretend that I am okay and should anyone ask how I am, I'll of course answer "fine."
Monday, August 2, 2010
Birthday Post - After the Fact
I will admit upfront that I have no specific topic for this blog other than some random, disorganized thoughts that I will somehow attempt to cohese into a post. Several topics have come into my mind and left again just as quickly.
Jude Birthday Eve (a holiday, though not quite a nationally recognized one) found me wandering around in our local grocery store. On a weeknight. After the kids were in bed. As always I am amazed at the number of people out on a work night past 9:00. And yes, I realize that makes me the oldest thirty-something ever.
Jude's birthday was quite an event. We had celebrated with family and friends the previous weekend so on his birthday, we decided to show Jude his birth video, which gave me a chance to runimate and get upset anew about things over which I have no control. Jude's birth was a planned event. Show up at the hospital at 6:00 a.m. and by 12:06, voila, a beautiful (if slightly purple) child is born.
Jude had two questions about his birth video. 1. Why is there an arrow on me? The "arrow" was the clamp tying off his umbilical cord. 2. How old were Grandma and Grandpa when I was born? I cannot fathom why he wanted to know this, but the answer to that is 53 and 53 respectively.
I cried a bit realizing that Sully has no such birth video. His birth was a planned event, yet he decided to come early, thus foiling the surgery already planned for him two weeks later. There was no chorus of grandparents meeting us at the hospital; instead Jeff called them when it appeared that we were indeed going to have a baby that night. When grandparents did make it to the hospital, they were, rightly, concerned about where Jude was going to be spending the night. Having one child, as I said, is nothing like having two children.
But the point of the blog isn't disparity. It isn't compare/contrast. It isn't even about Jude. That's right. Birthday or no birthday, this blog is all about Mom(s).
Specifically, me.
Motherhood lets certain parts of one's personality really shine. For example, I've always had a creative mind so I am able to creatively problem-solve whenever the children require it. I may not always be one step ahead, but at least I'm not falling too far behind.
Other parts of you do tend to fade. The me that went out and stayed out late is now home and pajama-bound. So now being out at 9:00 on a weeknight feels exotic.
But the me who looks into my child's ridiculously huge eyes as he pleads me "Mom, please go on the slip and slide with me", that me nods and then runs and jumps onto a wet, slippery plastic device wearing her favorite summer dress. That me really gets a chance to shine.
Jude Birthday Eve (a holiday, though not quite a nationally recognized one) found me wandering around in our local grocery store. On a weeknight. After the kids were in bed. As always I am amazed at the number of people out on a work night past 9:00. And yes, I realize that makes me the oldest thirty-something ever.
Jude's birthday was quite an event. We had celebrated with family and friends the previous weekend so on his birthday, we decided to show Jude his birth video, which gave me a chance to runimate and get upset anew about things over which I have no control. Jude's birth was a planned event. Show up at the hospital at 6:00 a.m. and by 12:06, voila, a beautiful (if slightly purple) child is born.
Jude had two questions about his birth video. 1. Why is there an arrow on me? The "arrow" was the clamp tying off his umbilical cord. 2. How old were Grandma and Grandpa when I was born? I cannot fathom why he wanted to know this, but the answer to that is 53 and 53 respectively.
I cried a bit realizing that Sully has no such birth video. His birth was a planned event, yet he decided to come early, thus foiling the surgery already planned for him two weeks later. There was no chorus of grandparents meeting us at the hospital; instead Jeff called them when it appeared that we were indeed going to have a baby that night. When grandparents did make it to the hospital, they were, rightly, concerned about where Jude was going to be spending the night. Having one child, as I said, is nothing like having two children.
But the point of the blog isn't disparity. It isn't compare/contrast. It isn't even about Jude. That's right. Birthday or no birthday, this blog is all about Mom(s).
Specifically, me.
Motherhood lets certain parts of one's personality really shine. For example, I've always had a creative mind so I am able to creatively problem-solve whenever the children require it. I may not always be one step ahead, but at least I'm not falling too far behind.
Other parts of you do tend to fade. The me that went out and stayed out late is now home and pajama-bound. So now being out at 9:00 on a weeknight feels exotic.
But the me who looks into my child's ridiculously huge eyes as he pleads me "Mom, please go on the slip and slide with me", that me nods and then runs and jumps onto a wet, slippery plastic device wearing her favorite summer dress. That me really gets a chance to shine.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Where Talking Really Leads
I was running errands and Jude was assisting. As we drove, the CD player churned out familar tunes and from the backseat, I could hear Jude singing "I'm bad news. Baby, I'm bad news." Rilo Kiley's Portions for Foxes. I never sat down to analyze the words before letting them stream into Jude's ears. Strange, really, since I am careful about what television I do let him watch.
The words fly through the speakers and into the air in the car, directly into my five-year-old's cerebral cortex. The lyrics: "Talking leads to touching and touching leads to sex. And then there is no mystery left."
Jude asks "What is that?"
And my own cerebral cortex starts into a panic: oh, crap. Not yet. Not the sex talk. I'm not ready.
And then my own voice responding: yes you are. You can handle this. You're a mom. Man up. Woman up. Sex. Sex is what mommies and daddies do when they are in love. Sex is what mommies and daddies do when they are in love.
Okay. I'm ready.
Then Jude asks again. "What is that? What does that mean when there is no mystery left?"
Oh. Okay. No mention of sex. We skipped right over that and delve right into the philosophical aspects of the song. Better still. I can do this.
"Well, Jude. Mystery is when people don't know every single thing about each other. People always want to learn about each other and if you ever managed to learn every single thing about someone, then there would be no mystery left. But I think there is always something to learn."
Jude processed this for a few moments, enough time for me to let my guard down.
In fact, he processed it for the rest of the day and didn't mention it again.
The next morning as we piled into the car for transport to daycare, Jude announced, "I'm mysterious, Mom. You don't know every thing about me."
Oh, okay. I had no idea what he was talking about. Until I remembered our earlier conversation. (Naturally, he remembered. He remembers every thing that ever leaves my lips, whether I want him to or not.)
"Well, I love you and I want to know every thing about you, Jude."
"Well, I'm mysterious. There are things about me no one knows."
And in my heart, I know this is true. It is true of everyone. No matter how much you love and trust someone, it is impossible to convey every thought, every emotion, every nuance of yourself to someone else.
And even though I try very hard not to dwell upon it(about as hard as I try not to begin sentences with conjunctions), I have an image of Jude with secrets he can't tell anyone and it makes me so sad.
Jude's voice pulls me out of the sadness. "Mom, did you know I'm going to be a superhero when I grow up? A superhero and a cop."
Suddenly he is five years old again and I know that I really do want to know everything about him.
The words fly through the speakers and into the air in the car, directly into my five-year-old's cerebral cortex. The lyrics: "Talking leads to touching and touching leads to sex. And then there is no mystery left."
Jude asks "What is that?"
And my own cerebral cortex starts into a panic: oh, crap. Not yet. Not the sex talk. I'm not ready.
And then my own voice responding: yes you are. You can handle this. You're a mom. Man up. Woman up. Sex. Sex is what mommies and daddies do when they are in love. Sex is what mommies and daddies do when they are in love.
Okay. I'm ready.
Then Jude asks again. "What is that? What does that mean when there is no mystery left?"
Oh. Okay. No mention of sex. We skipped right over that and delve right into the philosophical aspects of the song. Better still. I can do this.
"Well, Jude. Mystery is when people don't know every single thing about each other. People always want to learn about each other and if you ever managed to learn every single thing about someone, then there would be no mystery left. But I think there is always something to learn."
Jude processed this for a few moments, enough time for me to let my guard down.
In fact, he processed it for the rest of the day and didn't mention it again.
The next morning as we piled into the car for transport to daycare, Jude announced, "I'm mysterious, Mom. You don't know every thing about me."
Oh, okay. I had no idea what he was talking about. Until I remembered our earlier conversation. (Naturally, he remembered. He remembers every thing that ever leaves my lips, whether I want him to or not.)
"Well, I love you and I want to know every thing about you, Jude."
"Well, I'm mysterious. There are things about me no one knows."
And in my heart, I know this is true. It is true of everyone. No matter how much you love and trust someone, it is impossible to convey every thought, every emotion, every nuance of yourself to someone else.
And even though I try very hard not to dwell upon it(about as hard as I try not to begin sentences with conjunctions), I have an image of Jude with secrets he can't tell anyone and it makes me so sad.
Jude's voice pulls me out of the sadness. "Mom, did you know I'm going to be a superhero when I grow up? A superhero and a cop."
Suddenly he is five years old again and I know that I really do want to know everything about him.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
I'll Have Seconds, Please
My younger brother, Ryan, used to lament that there are no pictures of him as a baby. This isn't entirely true, though there are considerably less than there are of me. I decided that if I had two children, I would dedicate much time and effort into getting equal numbers of pictures of them. Into treating them equally. Into making everything equal.
I was, of course, out of my mind.
Jeff and I were perfectly happy so out of that happiness we somehow decided, well, okay, let's throw a third person into this mix. So we went out and made a person.
And then there were three, two of whom were delirious from lack of sleep. But between bouts of frustration, we were perfectly happy, delighting in babydom, watching this tiny and amazing person grow and change and evolve and wanting to capture every possible moment with film (okay, in digital mode). With Jude, the constantly moving critter, most picture from his infancy are of him asleep. Asleep was the only time he stopped moving long enough for us to take a picture.
And we were so perfectly happy that we wanted to do it again. So we went out and made another person.
The mistake, of course, was not in having the second child. He is adored and loved, our little Sully. The mistake was our arrogance for thinking that we had already done this, that this time around it would be easier.
Ha.
We were fools.
Having two children is nothing like having one child. Just when you get to learn the nuances of one child, the second child proves to be just different enough to offer a challenge. Sully slept more and moved slightly less, had less of the manic energy that Jude had.
The picture taking at some point dwindled, though did not disappear completely. It isn't a matter of loving one child more than the other. I can honestly say that I love both children immensely, but I love them very differently. How could I not? They are very different little boys.
Very different from one another and very different from every other member of the human race. But their love for us and for each other is unmistakable. Unconditional. I never really understood that before, this feeling of "I'll love you no matter what."
And I can't help but look at Jude and see a tiny me (complete with all my flaws reflecting back at me) and look at Sully and see a tiny Jeff. But they are more than that. They are my family.
Between bouts of unmedicated mental episodes (a kind way of putting the craziness that befalls me sometimes and which I cannot always control), we are happy. But I still need to work on that whole photo thing. Any times the boys stand next to one another, they climb and wrestle and do other boy-ish things that are unsuitable for capturing on camera.
Oh, boys.
I'm headed off to get a picture of my boys, the ones I love equally, though definitely not the same.
I was, of course, out of my mind.
Jeff and I were perfectly happy so out of that happiness we somehow decided, well, okay, let's throw a third person into this mix. So we went out and made a person.
And then there were three, two of whom were delirious from lack of sleep. But between bouts of frustration, we were perfectly happy, delighting in babydom, watching this tiny and amazing person grow and change and evolve and wanting to capture every possible moment with film (okay, in digital mode). With Jude, the constantly moving critter, most picture from his infancy are of him asleep. Asleep was the only time he stopped moving long enough for us to take a picture.
And we were so perfectly happy that we wanted to do it again. So we went out and made another person.
The mistake, of course, was not in having the second child. He is adored and loved, our little Sully. The mistake was our arrogance for thinking that we had already done this, that this time around it would be easier.
Ha.
We were fools.
Having two children is nothing like having one child. Just when you get to learn the nuances of one child, the second child proves to be just different enough to offer a challenge. Sully slept more and moved slightly less, had less of the manic energy that Jude had.
The picture taking at some point dwindled, though did not disappear completely. It isn't a matter of loving one child more than the other. I can honestly say that I love both children immensely, but I love them very differently. How could I not? They are very different little boys.
Very different from one another and very different from every other member of the human race. But their love for us and for each other is unmistakable. Unconditional. I never really understood that before, this feeling of "I'll love you no matter what."
And I can't help but look at Jude and see a tiny me (complete with all my flaws reflecting back at me) and look at Sully and see a tiny Jeff. But they are more than that. They are my family.
Between bouts of unmedicated mental episodes (a kind way of putting the craziness that befalls me sometimes and which I cannot always control), we are happy. But I still need to work on that whole photo thing. Any times the boys stand next to one another, they climb and wrestle and do other boy-ish things that are unsuitable for capturing on camera.
Oh, boys.
I'm headed off to get a picture of my boys, the ones I love equally, though definitely not the same.
Friday, July 23, 2010
No Excuses -- No Good Ones Anyway
I am a lying, lying liar. I don't mean to be. I stare at my gmail account and have assigned myself a "status" that indicates what I am doing RIGHT NOW. Mine says that I am writing. Ninety percent of the time that isn't true. I'm working or playing with the children or just plain watching tv or doing crossword puzzles instead of writing. These aren't bad things, but I can't seem to change my status to something else. I like knowing that every once in a while it will be true and I will be writing.
It has been a hard few months of trial and error. Currently I am sans antidepressants but am on ADD meds, which I thought would automatically make me want to sit and write again. I have to admit that I can concentrate really, really well on watching tv and doing crossword puzzles.
I missed my blog. No one misses talking about herself more than me. I have been mostly incommunicado, steering clear of Facebook and blogging and even much emailing. I've been mostly trying to feel better. I want to be able to tell family and friends that I feel better without being a liar. See, there it is again. Lying. But is it a lie if I pretend I'm doing better mentally than I really am if it comforts those who love me? After all, I'm not unable to get out of bed. I'm functioning, some days even well.
Can one change his or her nature? Are there things that are just hard wired into our brains that simply cannot be changed?
So now that summer is more than half over and I've complained about the sheer heat rising up from the pavement, I will truly make an effort to blog more -- if not for you than for me.
And I am pretty sure that isn't a lie.
It has been a hard few months of trial and error. Currently I am sans antidepressants but am on ADD meds, which I thought would automatically make me want to sit and write again. I have to admit that I can concentrate really, really well on watching tv and doing crossword puzzles.
I missed my blog. No one misses talking about herself more than me. I have been mostly incommunicado, steering clear of Facebook and blogging and even much emailing. I've been mostly trying to feel better. I want to be able to tell family and friends that I feel better without being a liar. See, there it is again. Lying. But is it a lie if I pretend I'm doing better mentally than I really am if it comforts those who love me? After all, I'm not unable to get out of bed. I'm functioning, some days even well.
Can one change his or her nature? Are there things that are just hard wired into our brains that simply cannot be changed?
So now that summer is more than half over and I've complained about the sheer heat rising up from the pavement, I will truly make an effort to blog more -- if not for you than for me.
And I am pretty sure that isn't a lie.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Remember Me?
Well, yes, it has been awhile -- and not really because I have lacked things to say. Rather I have always decided that I would blog later. Write later.
I was standing in line waiting for the Easter Bunny at the Chocolate Cafe with the boys today, thinking about the end of the Twilight Zone episode where Burgess Meredith indicates that he has "all the time in the world" to read all of the books he has always wanted to. I have always had all the time in the world, too. Time to write. Time to become the person I have always wanted to be.
Or have I?
It occurs to me that perhaps I should be a bit more carpe diem and a bit less laissez-faire when it comes to achieving whatever it is I wish to be doing. I realize that most everyone my age has already done that way back in their 20s while it has taken me another decade and a half to realize what I already knew deep down.
Those things -- whatever they may be -- aren't coming to me so I need to go to them. More than that, though, I always thought I was writing to entertain. To enlighten (okay, moreso the entertaining than the enlightening) but not writing only makes me realize how much I have missed it.
So I am back. But not really for you -- although you're free to read and observe if you wish. I'm back for me.
But feel free to come along with me on this journey wherever it may take me. I just can't stand still. I must poem or prose. Something. Anything.
Sometimes I just get tired of chasing my dreams. I think I will find out where they are going and then just meet them there.
I was standing in line waiting for the Easter Bunny at the Chocolate Cafe with the boys today, thinking about the end of the Twilight Zone episode where Burgess Meredith indicates that he has "all the time in the world" to read all of the books he has always wanted to. I have always had all the time in the world, too. Time to write. Time to become the person I have always wanted to be.
Or have I?
It occurs to me that perhaps I should be a bit more carpe diem and a bit less laissez-faire when it comes to achieving whatever it is I wish to be doing. I realize that most everyone my age has already done that way back in their 20s while it has taken me another decade and a half to realize what I already knew deep down.
Those things -- whatever they may be -- aren't coming to me so I need to go to them. More than that, though, I always thought I was writing to entertain. To enlighten (okay, moreso the entertaining than the enlightening) but not writing only makes me realize how much I have missed it.
So I am back. But not really for you -- although you're free to read and observe if you wish. I'm back for me.
But feel free to come along with me on this journey wherever it may take me. I just can't stand still. I must poem or prose. Something. Anything.
Sometimes I just get tired of chasing my dreams. I think I will find out where they are going and then just meet them there.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Go Forth on the Fourth
I've never really been able to be a "positive thinker." Anytime I tried, my brain would get in the way. However, the year is underway and there is much to do this year, so I am attempting yet again this year to do all those things that I have not managed to accomplish in previous years. I'm not sure how to twist my entire mindset, but I am working on it.
Hurricane it,
whipping my entire mind,
my entire life
to change it
but careful, careful
hurricane
not to damage
those parts
that really work.
Hurricane it,
whipping my entire mind,
my entire life
to change it
but careful, careful
hurricane
not to damage
those parts
that really work.
Go Forth on the Fourth
I've never really been able to be a "positive thinker." Anytime I tried, my brain would get in the way. However, the year is underway and there is much to do this year, so I am attempting yet again this year to do all those things that I have not managed to accomplish in previous years. I'm not sure how to twist my entire mindset, but I am working on it.
Hurricane it,
whipping my entire mind,
my entire life
to change it
but careful, careful
hurricane
not to damage
those parts
that really work.
Hurricane it,
whipping my entire mind,
my entire life
to change it
but careful, careful
hurricane
not to damage
those parts
that really work.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Games (Little) People Play
Jude and Sullivan both got games for Christmas and they both adore them: Connect Four, Operation, Chutes and Ladders. All games Jeff and I also played as kids, so we're enjoying them as much as the kids. Sully doesn't technically play by any rules, but Jude has learned the rules and is playing well.
The other game we indulge in is called What's In Ned's Head? This is a game that consists of a large head with openings at the ears and nose into which the game pieces are inserted. Then the players take turns picking cards and trying to pick out an object from Ned's head just by feel. It is a fun game and both boys adore it. Ned has an assortment of pieces: a tongue, rat, used cotton swab, spider, among others. But most of all, it is something we can all do together -- and there aren't many things like that!
Ah, Ned, you're so easy
inside you an assortment
of pieces
a head full of spiders
and lost lunch
a dirty diaper
and a space alien
but no tangled thoughts
in you
no confusing synapses
no crazy inferences
Oh, Ned,
to be Ned
just for a day
The other game we indulge in is called What's In Ned's Head? This is a game that consists of a large head with openings at the ears and nose into which the game pieces are inserted. Then the players take turns picking cards and trying to pick out an object from Ned's head just by feel. It is a fun game and both boys adore it. Ned has an assortment of pieces: a tongue, rat, used cotton swab, spider, among others. But most of all, it is something we can all do together -- and there aren't many things like that!
Ah, Ned, you're so easy
inside you an assortment
of pieces
a head full of spiders
and lost lunch
a dirty diaper
and a space alien
but no tangled thoughts
in you
no confusing synapses
no crazy inferences
Oh, Ned,
to be Ned
just for a day
Saturday, January 2, 2010
On the Second Day of January
We are blanketed by snow and I am feeling very warm and cozy just being inside the house. Whenever I look outside, I can't help but lament all the snow, but at the same time be thankful that I am warm and don't have to be outside.
At the same time, I think we all get a bit of cabin fever.
the day, endless,
stretches before us
limitless minutes
to err as never before
untold hours
to think and wonder
and worry
about how to fill
the minutes before us
and worry still more
about how we filled
the minutes behind us
At the same time, I think we all get a bit of cabin fever.
the day, endless,
stretches before us
limitless minutes
to err as never before
untold hours
to think and wonder
and worry
about how to fill
the minutes before us
and worry still more
about how we filled
the minutes behind us
Friday, January 1, 2010
Happy New Blog
As part of my desire to write when possible, I've decided to make daily updates to my blog and resume my poem-a-day. Last year, my writing schedule was erratic, but perhaps this year will be the year I finally figure out of the balance.
Our new year's eve was the quietest of quiet. A pizza picnic on the floor with the boys watching "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" (Jude's pick, naturally). Then a game night as Jude and I played Connect Four and then Jeff and Jude played Connect Four while Sullivan and I played What's in Ned's Head? (A game both boys love!)
Unfortunately, I rolled into bed a bit after 9:00 with a stomachache, but that seems to have abated this morning.
Without further ado, my first attempt at poeming for the new year:
New year and new chance
to wake up
and in the hazy state,
the foggy ether
between sleep and wake
to turn the dreams
into reality
instead of turning reality
into dreams
to spend less time
in the haze
and more time
awake
and dreaming
Happy New Year to you. Hope it is a great one.
Our new year's eve was the quietest of quiet. A pizza picnic on the floor with the boys watching "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" (Jude's pick, naturally). Then a game night as Jude and I played Connect Four and then Jeff and Jude played Connect Four while Sullivan and I played What's in Ned's Head? (A game both boys love!)
Unfortunately, I rolled into bed a bit after 9:00 with a stomachache, but that seems to have abated this morning.
Without further ado, my first attempt at poeming for the new year:
New year and new chance
to wake up
and in the hazy state,
the foggy ether
between sleep and wake
to turn the dreams
into reality
instead of turning reality
into dreams
to spend less time
in the haze
and more time
awake
and dreaming
Happy New Year to you. Hope it is a great one.
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