RTT: Bad Drivers and Other

The cool thing about blogging is you keep doing it. No matter your mood (swings), habit-forming complaints or hormonal shifts. You get to piece together your own roller coaster before everyone's very eyes!

Tuesdays are one of my favorite days thanks to Keely at the Un-Mom. This is the way my brain functions anyway, so why not drag you all along for the ride?

I got rear-ended. Craziest thing. Pulling out of the supermarket parking lot, focusing on the traffic to the left, then to the right, then BAM! (Really loud BAM.) It took me a second to register what had just happened, then to shift into park, then check my toddler. Oh! And then check myself because I'm pregnant. The culprit came careening around to the driver's window, asking if I was okay and begging me to let him go, he had no insurance, there was no damage, please ma'am, just let me go.. I'm really sorry but I really need to go.

Hm. Well, think about that the next time you forget where your brake peddle is. I checked the bumper. I checked his face for the desperation index. It was pretty high. I let him go. Drove home. (We're fine though, no damage. Yet. I'll let y'all know if my bumper falls off tomorrow.)

We put another offer on a different house! A better house. More on that later.

I taught a couple toddler classes this morning at our local Rec Center and was bushed. My toddler wanted to play with the vending machine buttons. Perfect! I put a dollar in and he chose a Gatorade for me. It was a Gatorade AM. It is called "SHINE ON". I'd like to adopt that as my new motto, as my emotional turmoil of late keeps me guessing daily.

Shine on, you crazy diamond.

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Pacing the Cage

I recently heard a song that spoke to my heart. It broke my heart, and whispered it back into repair. Every now and then, you feel as if an artist is speaking directly to your soul when their voice comes to you over the airwaves. This was one of those times.

I was on my way from somewhere, or maybe to somewhere, and it stopped me in my tracks. Not literally, since I was in the car, but the toddler knew right away something had just dawned on me. He probably sensed I didn't quite know yet myself what exactly I had stumbled upon, but the look in my eye, catching his, told him something. And, me too.

It's an artist called Bruce Cockburn, and the song was "Pacing the Cage." This is me, a lifetime leading up to this point, in three words. Pacing the cage.

I've been pretty emotional lately, which is why I've been holding off blogging about life while under the influence of pregnancy hormones. But this morning, after hitting what we'll call "really hard bottom", a trip to the gym to 1) take advantage of dirt-cheap childcare, 2) run the body ragged and 3) cleanse the mind, I had a bit of a turnaround. I believe it's an opportunity to write while I'm under this influence, because I'm at such an interesting crossroads in my life. How could I not?

So, I'll write about my days. My sleepless nights. My emotional misery and my ecstatic highs. Thing is, I do feel like I'm caged in this current "stage".. "occupation".. "job". What is this? Staying home to raise a child? Of course it's a job. It's something to occupy one's time, so, an occupation. It's brutal for an extrovert. It's heaven on the good days. It's a form of inhumane torture for an addict of human companionship on the bad.

But why can't I just .. enjoy it? Because I'm human. And I had an exciting, blurry, stress-ridden quick ride up my career ladder, a pleasant plateau, a sudden wish to dabble into the artistic side of my brain, and.. had a child. Here I am. And here you are, reading me.

My emotions are there for the taking, you can turn and smile and bring them out of me. You could take my parking spot, glare at me across the aisle, miss the potty and pee on the floor, walk out of the room before I'm ready, make an offhand comment about how perfect your life is, or become my family and break my heart into a million pieces with nary a backward glance.

It's with this emotional context that I fill my head, my heart, my days. It's why I wrestle with the "what am I doing?" question.

I want to start another blog, a local resource for stay-at-home-moms in Northern Virginia. I want to go back to working on a trading floor. I want to write a book. I want to be paid for my photography. I want to learn another language. I want to quiet these emotions. I want to destroy all emoticons. I want to be a better wife and mom. I want to put it all out there, and I want to hide it all away.

So, here I am.. pacing the cage.

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RTT: True Random Tantrums

I've never called one of those "How Am I Driving?" numbers on the back of random trucks, buses, 18-wheelers, soccer moms and cell phone drivers. But today, I came close. This auto-parts store truck had a bright yellow one on his bumper. He wasn't going fast enough to keep up with my next destination, and I couldn't get around him. I caught an air of smugness in his rear view mirror and nearly picked up my phone.

I once rode horses in my younger "free time is free" days. I knew you were never to feed a horse while he/she was still hot, lest bad things happen. I've always assumed this was true with large breed dogs as well, because of bloat. So, I make my two Labs wait until they've cooled off a bit after they come in from the heat, before having dinner. Tonight, we were running late and I sat them down to begin the dinner routine (after the toddler was done. What kind of mom do you think I am?) They were sitting in their spots, my female yellow Lab perfectly still, while my male Lab, Echo, was panting his black-furred butt off.
I swear I saw her nudge Echo:
"Dude! Shut up! She's never going to feed us if you don't shut your damn snout!"

Watching reality television usually winds up making me feel better about myself/my life. Is that bad to admit?

I have begun writing some seriously deep, soul-seeking posts lately...then never posted them. I think I'm getting ready to ramp them up soon. So... strap in! I at least will commit to write more than 1X/week!

Go visit Keely at her place, it's much more random than here. Though, this was pretty random.

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RTT? Potty Mouth

I have something random for ya. We are deeply in the throes of potty training at our house. Rock the House.

I had such a dearth of good, interesting, funny stories on my blog last week, that I plan to more than make up for it this week. If you've never had a child, or your potty training was seamless and easy, you may want to skip this post. I just can't relate.

On Saturday morning, I heard my newly-turned two year old alternating between crying, and talking to himself. Gentle crying, then yammer yammer to (conceivably) his various animals and blankets that accompany him in his crib nightly. It was early, I still had sleep in my eyes, but I was intrigued. He doesn't normally alternate crying with jabbering.

I opened the door, and subtly contained my shock, disgust and dismay as I found my toddler, buck naked in his crib, holding on to one of his poops.

That's right. Holding on to it, as if he just wasn't ready to let that one go.. yet.

I quelled my guttural reactions (puking, acting nauseated), and whisked him to the toilet next door, explaining where it is we go poop. I then scrubbed his hands for about an hour several minutes, while my bleary-eyed husband stumbled in, still half-asleep, asking what was going on. I actually didn't have to say anything. The naked hand washing gave it away!

We started officially potty training last week, at the encouragement of our pediatrician, who told me that 1) because our toddler is interested, 2) because it's warm and summery, finally, and 3) I'm not due until November, now is the time.

We've had a few other acrimonious accidents. He peed on the ottoman. He peed on his brand new MegaBloks tractor. He pooped on his toddler chair. Okay, so they aren't that funny. But he is getting it. He understands the need to go, just can't always make it to the proper spot to do it.

Hey, that's happened to the best of drunk college students. Just.. can't.. quite.. make it to the toliet.

So, if you are easily grossed out, pass out at the sight of words referencing defecation, you might pass on my blog this week. Otherwise, all help and advice, book recommendations, and sedative prescriptions are welcomed! Let 'em rip!

C'mon.. give us your best potty training story ever. Dare ya!

And go see Keely for better random number generation. She's better at it.

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RTT: Remembering, Tragedy, and Toddlers

I'm late, but at least I'm here. I miss Keely and her Random gang over at Un-Mom, so I'm joining in today. Go see her here.

Please send your prayers out to those who were killed, injured, or lost a loved one in yesterday's Metro rail crash in Washington, DC. The Washington Post's headlines indicate the crash was "not supposed to happen" and is the "worst in Metro's 33-year history". There are many tales of heroics and good Samaritans helping their fellow man, but sadly, there are also devastating tales of those who were not able to go home yesterday. Loved ones who waited, unable to find out information. Waiting for those who boarded the train as he/she always did, day after day.

It is often in times of tragic random circumstance that one identifies with the victim's families, thinking, "what if my husband was riding that particular Metro that day?" You feel a little more lucky, perhaps, that you can live on to continue another day.

It's difficult to imagine what those family members are actually going through, but my heart, my thoughts, my mind and prayers are with them.

It's difficult also, to try to randomly include a light-hearted story in light of yesterday's very sad news. However, I will share just one:

My toddler and I were playing in his room yesterday morning. He left suddenly, I heard him toddle out to the kitchen, and I turned to put some things away. When he returned, he was beaming and said what sounded like:
"Go kitchen! Fill wawa up to tup? Wawa into tup? Kitchen!"

He pulled me, by the hand, into the kitchen and there, in the middle of the kitchen floor, was a sippy cup, no top, filled to the brim with cold water.

He'd opened the fridge and filled it with the Pur water filter.

Lil' water-maniac, that one.

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The Paradox of Parenting

As my Mother-in-Law said, "this was the longest and the shortest week ever."

I agree. From our four-day break last weekend, I gleaned peace.. I gleaned some calm.. I gleaned some precious time with best friends that I rarely get to see in the hurried waters of life.

And a funny thing happened, on the way back to the Forum. Traveling back from the wedding festivities, we were heading down a gorgeous, scenic North Carolina byway on our way back to Chapel Hill to pick up the kiddo from the loving exhausted grandparents.

As we emerged into the final stretch of the open road, surrounded, summoned, by Piedmont rolling hills, green fields, and cows with a Southern drawl, I felt the strangest emotional tug I'd ever felt.

I wanted that road to stretch out further and further in front of us, each bend rounding a little longer and keeping us away from our goal. I wanted each hill to climb a little bit higher, allowing us a generous view at the peak, dropping us gently down towards our sleeping child. I wanted to never get there.

Yet I wanted to get there so badly. I wanted to open the door to his room, peek inside the Pack 'n Play at my adorable, cherubic napping son, and be there in front of his adoring eyes when he awoke. I wanted him to jump up to his toddler feet, open his arms wide, and say, "Mama came back."

And in the tug, the emotional roller coaster that is pregnancy got the best of me. I had had a myriad emotions over the course of the wedding weekend.. oft to be expected when good friends get married. Expected when you're surrounded by good friends that are already married, with whom you've spent years.. decades getting to know individually as humans. Then, as one unit in marriage.

All of this. The generosity of time, allowing us this many memories and mental snapshots to live by. The reminder of good friends.. old friends.. friends that have known you through incredibly rich years of life. The shred of peace I obtained while being simply by myself (if not just for a few hours.) My husband and I, as one unit, no hangers-on, alone with just the open road ahead of us to share.

I wanted to hold onto these untenable things, yet I wanted to whisk them away with one wave to reunite with my one-and-only, turning-two toddler. To look into his blue eyes, watch his grin grow, then listen to him as he told me all the ways he loved, learned, played, missed, and grew. Without us there.

I think this is the paradox of parenting.

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Happy Birthday, Big (Little) Toddler!

(Pretend today is Monday, June 15th. That's just how this week is goin'.)

Happy Birthday, big C!


(Yes, I took these photos. And more about the trip to come, promise!)

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Leaving... On a (Ground) Plane

Right, just a car.

I'm only writing once this week, as we are departing for an illustrious and exciting weekend of kid-free wedding fun! So you have to sit through a long post, like my long car ride. Tomorrow, we leave. We're dropping the adorable but often demonic cherub off at Grandma's house and then skipping on to Charlotte, NC, where we spent the early years of our marriage.

Ah, the early years.. no sippy cups falling out of the cabinet when you open it. No diapers stuffed into my Coach bag. No peeling a melted-down toddler off the CVS floor.

Back when going "out" meant to the bars, not dashing out for dinner while the babysitter watched TV for two hours as our son slept. Going shopping meant for ME, with the girls, where I could try on the black leather pants from Banana Republic for an hour without gentle (then increasingly demanding) moans from the stroller. Going to the grocery story meant walking across the street, buying a few items that usually included wine or beer, mixes, or possibly all three, and then going and imbibing them.

It never included my toddler reaching over and grabbing a Kix box on the cereal aisle and opening it himself while my head was turned.

And last but not least.. when we were really feeling like hermits, or just plain lazy, we might catch a last-minute summer blockbuster. You know, on a whim.

Needless to say (or did I say it?), I'm greatly looking forward to this trip. I need a break from my toddler and he needs the intensity of Grandma Can't-Get-Enough-Of-Him Love for three days. Ironically, I'll miss the heck out of him. You can have too much of a good thing. And I have a good thing nearly 24 hours a day, almost 7 days a week.

So, while wallowing in my own (ridiculousness), I'll leave you with an interesting read. I'm sure a lot of you heard on the news that there's a homeless man in D.C. that is blogging.. and tweeting, facebooking, about the homeless condition.

I may talk a lot about feeling sorry in my current (bloated, tired, sick, isolated and whale-like) condition, but this stopped me in my tracks. He really has something to blog about.

Check him out here.

See you next week!

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Writer's Workshop: Finally, I Said It

1.) If you could cut back on something in your life that takes up your time what would it be? And what would you prefer to spend that time doing?

I would stop feeling sorry for myself. There, I said it. That is what I need to spend LESS of my time doing.

I've been a blogging slacker lately, and my only semblance of an excuse has been this insanity with housing searching, contract signing, and subsequent voiding. That's over now. Now we're refocusing our energies. On what, you may want to know.. and so do we. That will be the subject of many blog posts to come.

Or, are we? I've realized lately that I spend way too much time feeling sorry for "having" to stay at home all the time. Are you kidding me?

My Mom was just here for a quick two-day visit again. My parents spend the summers in the Finger Lakes of upstate NY, and live in North Carolina most of the year. So, a few times during the summer, we are treated to "You are smack dab in the very center of both of those places and it's a really, really great break to stop and go the bathroom. Oh and see our adorable grandson who loves us to pieces"-stopovers. You know what? I'll take those stopovers.

Anyway, she doted. She played. She gave him kisses and hugs and pick-ups and so much love&energy that I've just run out of lately. It was fabulous for my son; it was more fabulous for me. But then, she had to leave.

And in her wake, I've realized that we don't know what turns life will take. We don't know what's ahead, or, unfortunately, if it's good or bad. But we can choose whether we smile or frown and to make ourselves happy.

In short, we can choose to enjoy our charmed lives, even if they don't seem so at times.

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RTT: Random Turn of evenTs

Have you ever been heading down a road, on a trip, and, maybe you've never been there before or you've spaced out for ten minutes and missed your exit and.. eventually you realize you've come a realllly long way out of your way? Like, it pains you to think about turning around and heading back to the one spot you know, simply because it's so freakin' far behind you?!

Yeah. Well, we did our inspection for this other (bigger, much bigger) house that we were previously under contract with and.. not happenin'. We voided the contract, getting out via the inspection contingency. (Thank goodness for contingencies.)

You know, because it's so easy to make these large, life-changing events while one is pregnant. We've already gone over my confused state of being as late.

But, this is Random Tuesday so we can't dwell on things. I just finished addressing the invites for my son's 2nd birthday party. The big 2.0. Unreal.

I've never been a fan of reality TV. Until "The Bachelorette". And "The Apprentice." And "The Office". (Just kidding.) No, really. I have a serious Bachelorette addiction. Who can blame me? I love seeing a bunch of manly men acting like girly-girls. Good times.

Not that the GM news surprised anyone today, but I just wonder.. is anyone out there seriously considering buying a GM car right now? I'm wondering how that psychological impact will impact the employees, the shareholders, the Board, the suppliers, and the very big multiplier effect of the American auto industry. A Saab is still a Saab, right? A Cadillac.. a Caddy? Right?

I really love corn on the cob. What I love even more is watching my toddler hold an ear in each of his hands, eye the ear carefully from end to end, pick the perfect spot to start, and then CHOMP with as much gusto as little two-year old jaws will allow. Ah, childhood.

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