La Vie Boheme

I've written this post so many times, over and over in my head. I like to think that's how writers "think". But most writers follow that with actual writing. I've continued to blog in my head, the obvious issue with that being that all of you are not, sadly and joyously, in my head. Imagine that living nightmare , if you would.

And, for my Facebook readers, please know you are reading my BLOG, it just so happens that I embraced our A.D.D.-generation and it automatically imports to FB for you. No clicks necessary! But (warning bells), I'm thinking of changing that.

Today I can wait no longer. Why have I not put ink to paper in so long? Or fingertip to delicate tapping sound?

I need to write that post on our vacation in Ithaca. How it wasn't all that I'd planned. How life happened, and the extra appendage known as Toddler was still that. How I still felt that need to break free of... my own life. When my Mom took us to see Rent, and, upon watching the stunning closing number, feeling the sudden rise of emotion, uncontrollable, unfettered emotion, upon realization that life really is measured in love? That above all else, no matter the frustrations and agony that is the human existence, love is what is measured? What else do we take with us?

My frustration of late, which I share so readily here, has been the one-ness of my life. The constant-ness of being solely in charge of a two-year old life (okay, not solely*. But I don't always have The Village around me when I need it!)

There have been few times in my life when I wanted to be alone. As a kid, I was never alone. I didn't live alone in college. I hated living alone for a two-month period after college, and bent over backwards to get out of that house, and town, to have a roommate again. I wouldn't go get a bite to eat by myself. I would never consider going to see a movie alone. Never, ever. Death!

I have been, and until recently believed myself to always BE, a true Extrovert by Myers-Briggs standards. Preference: People.

Having a constant, two-foot high companion (at times, appendage) definitely has made me yearn for the times when I am completely. And utterly. Alone. Being bossed around by a two-foot-high stack of concentrated energy actually takes a lot out of a person. Let alone a person carrying another person around in utero.

Don't get me wrong. I always respected those confident-looking coffee shop dwellers engrossed in their books. I just wanted to be engrossed in conversation with them.

On Wednesday this week, otherwise known as NewFreedom Day, my toddler went to preschool for 3 hours in the morning. Ironically, as duty would have it I had to appear at the doctor's office, where I jubilantly read the paper in the waiting room. The paper! But in running my requisite solo errands thereafter, I found myself on a bit of a high. An alone high. Happy to just be. Alone. Inconceivable!

The Moms are supposed to hide as the two's come down the hallway from the playground, so we don't distract them from their line-forming concentration. We hid. I peeked. I spotted my toddler, following the direction of the teachers, in a line of two-foot high people. Looking up at times, bewildered. Furrowing his brow, making his miniature way in the world. Obviously pooped from the stimulation that is toddler-hood.

It happened. Tears came to my eyes. I missed him. I missed him so much, in my alone-ness. My reconvening with my independent Self. I couldn't wait to catch up with him. After three hours.


* Because my husband reads my blog.

Read more...

Why Sleep Deprivation (Like Drugs) Is Bad

So, yesterday, the absolutely unthinkable happened to me. Whenever 911 is involved, I tend to think it's "unthinkable".

I'm not one of those people that loses her keys. Ever. And I'm certainly not one of those people that locks her keys in her car. Ever.

It had been a rough morning. My little guy was being a bossy, demanding two-year old, as two-year olds will. I decided the cure for what ailed us what getting out of the house, maybe a zip of caffeine. I decided to meet a Mom for story time at the local library, but I was exhausted and tired from lack of sleeping at night. My toddler and I ran into Starbucks to get my something with zip (Vivanno), and a kid milk. Once outside, I proceeded to toss his kid milk onto the sidewalk, and was instantly furious with myself; there was 1/2 inch left in the cup. There was a quintessential hangs-out-a-lot-at-coffee shops dude with his laptop, surveying the damage. I stuck the two drinks on the car hood, strapped Toddler into his car seat and was going to offer the last 1/2 inch of milk to him.

Because, you know, couldn't waste a penny more than had already been splattered over the sidewalk.

I fumbled the two drinks, local paper, and my purse.. then proceeded to throw what remained of the milk onto the passenger side seat and door panel.. milk was everywhere on the passenger side, all over the glass, all over the seat, and most importantly, the door panel. I tossed my purse and keys, Vivanno, and paper onto the passenger seat, grabbed some napkins and started wiping down the car. I was so furious with myself, so I wiped it down hard, setting in motion the next chain of events.

I had no idea what was coming.

I finished the wiping, and someone was trying to pull into the parking spot beside me, so I slammed the door shut. I tried my toddler's door, to check on him. Locked. Tried the passenger door. Locked. Raced around to the driver's side, locked. MY TWO YEAR OLD WAS LOCKED INSIDE WITH MY CELL PHONE AND KEYS. It is probably 89 degrees outside.

I started repeating the mantra "OHMIGOD, OHMIGOD, OHMIGOD" loudly, and out of nowhere, like an angel, a Mom appeared with her cell phone, muttering something about how it was falling apart, telling me to call someone. It was pink. The back was falling off. The words she was saying barely registered.

I called my husband. We figured out it would be a minimum 30 mins for him to make it with the spare key, so I called 911. As I dialed, crazy, irrelevant thoughts raced through my brain. The only other time I'd called 911 was to report a smoking vehicle on the highway. Would they think this was, in fact, an emergency? Or some crazed overprotective Mom who was two shots short of a latte? Was this phone going to hold together? Why was her phone pink?

The fire department and police showed up in about TWO minutes. I watched the big red shiny fire truck pull up and told myself this wasn't happening. Then I told my toddler, through the window, helplessly strapped into the carseat, that there was a big red shiny firetruck behind him. He raised his eyebrows, tried to crane his neck.

Every minute that ticked by was an eternity. The firemen worked like clockwork, gathering a group on each side of the car, each with a slim jim, successfully getting the wire into the car, but unable to pull the locks open. I parked myself outside my toddler's door, shielding him from the sun, began to sing him "Twinkle Twinkle", and then I saw it. The open mouthed, noiseless wail of a hot, scared little boy. He looked at me in panic. "What are these men doing? Why are you out there? What are they doing to our car?"

I put my hand up on the glass, and really started to lose it. He was hot. He was really hot; little bullets of sweat were forming, breaking on his forehead, trickling into his open mouth. He kicked his shoes off, furious at his entrapment.

Something happened to me then. I cleared my voice, wiped my tears of helplessness, and said in a very loud, clear voice to the fireman with the slim jim exactly what the lock button looked like, where it was located, and how you must push it. A calm came over me that I still cannot explain. Enough was enough, we needed him out. Now.

They took 20 minutes to get the doors open, right as my husband showed up. The look I got from the husband was not one I wish to relive, that of pain. Tormented relief.

The very scary thing, and why I decided to share this, is how quickly my toddler got hot.. really hot. I was shielding him from the sun, and we have tinted windows in the back, and he was still sweating. PSA: Now you know why you have a duty if you ever see a kid locked inside a car on a hot day.

After the whole ordeal was over, a Mom that had witnessed it came over and gave me a hug and kiss and said she was there, crying with me. I hugged all of the firemen. It was quite a scene. Everyone was fine, including my toddler, whom we took inside Starbucks to get cooled off, where they gave him a free sample of sticky bun. Swinging his shoe-less feet, on my lap, sipping water.
He was good. It was ME that still needed to recover.

I didn't get him another kid's milk.

Read more...

The Truth About Bees

Have you ever watched a honeybee die? It's the saddest, most logical, sensical thing in the world.
Yesterday, I sat in an Adirondack chair, overlooking a gorgeous glacier-made lake, and watched a beautiful bumblebee die. Or, I can only imagine it was dying, it was acting strangely enough for anyone to misinterpret it as dying.. or crying, or possibly praying.

My family spends the summers on Cayuga Lake, in the Finger Lakes of upstate NY. This area has been described many ways by many people, but it is definitely gorgeous (to reference the bumper sticker.) So, sitting here with a good book during the Toddler's nap is actually a difficult venture.. do you watch the lake? Or stare at your book, thinking of watching the lake?

In this case, I watched the bumblebee, fully aware of the sheer luxury that is sitting in a chair and watching something for any amount of time. Trust me, I'm savoring it. I've had several Zen-moments on our trip up here, and this was one of them.

The most curious thing he (or she) did, as he was dying, was pause. S/He would stumble around, the very tip of the bee tail would slowly lift up, then down. Pause. Then quickly up and down. The wings would spread out, gather, spread out, as if searching for something; and just when he saw it, and was about to take flight after it, fatigue would set in and the search would begin anew.

For half an hour, I watched this dance. The invariable Dance with Death. Life as he knew it was ending, and it seemed a welcome change from the busy duties of beedom. But it made me immeasurably sad, to witness this slow demise, the creeping around, the slower flicks of the tail. At one point, I looked down, and I could see both giant bumblebee eyes, staring straight into mine. I know this seems a bit alliterative, because of the obvious: bees have no conscience thought, or wisdom, or ability to look us in the eye. Do they?

He crawled, wiggled, spread wings, danced, flicked tail, turned in circles, raised his antennae dutifully in attention, and I played his witness. The whole process seemed tragic, yes, very sad, but also redemptive. Logical. He had accomplished what he'd set out (let's assume), he had played his role in the great Universe with grace (let's presume) and - once the World was without this particular bee, life would resume.

Such a sadness, I felt, in watching him die slowly. To have the knowledge that this made sense, of course he was dying, that was bitter sweetness in its truth. I think we both came to the realization gradually, over time (since thirty minutes is quite a lot in bee-time.)

I found myself staring at the lake again. Thinking about the length of time we're here, about the life cycle of a bee. How much ground had he covered in his short time? My mind, wandering, immediately drew several connections. I'll share those another time. The lake was still a deep blue, the sky mirroring the color.

I looked back and he was gone.

Read more...

RTT: Ruptured Toes and Tumbling

Yes, I broke my left pinkie toe on Sunday. How random is that?! I actually did it just so I'd have something to post about for Random Tuesday thoughts. Um, no.

Let's recap a little. I'm pregnant. 25 weeks or so (I think? Who keeps track of these things,) which means my belly is OUT THERE. I have a two-year old toddler boy. Who likes to run away in the opposite direction, especially towards oncoming traffic.

We are leaving on our summer vacation on Friday.

So yes, this really could not be better timing, with the broken toe and all. I'll share a funny story about taking myself to the doctor for it on Monday, which all of you busy Moms (and everyone) can relate to.. since when we become adults, there just is not enough time to take ourselves to the doctor. And then we'll move on.
Primary Care Physician: "So, how did you do this?"
Me: "Welllll, I'm teaching this tumbling class to preschoolers on Sundays... and... "
PCP: "I see. Does this hurt? Yes? Okay, it's broken."
Me: [Under my breath swear word. Toddler is present. Taking the air vent out of the floor. Putting it back.]
PCP: "Since we don't cast for toes, no point in doing an x-ray. What you do, is just take an ice cream cone..."
Me: "Ice Cream Cone?" (She's Iranian. I know what she means, but want her to work for this co-pay today.)
PCP: "Yes, you take the thing, the stick, and put it behind.. then wrap the toes with the medical tape.. "
Me: "Do you have any of the medical tape here, we could wrap it now?"
PCP: [Laughing] "Oh, no. We aren't orthopedic surgeons." Silly patient.
Me: "Aha. So I get some medical tape and wrap the two toes? Anything for the pain?"
PCP: "Ah yes. You may take the aspirin."
Me: "Um, isn't it .. the Tylenol, I take, now that I'm close to the third trimester?"
PCP: "Right. Tylenol. NOT ibuprofen. In case you delivered today, you wouldn't stop bleeding."

Hm. I'm pretty sure there is a very rare but serious condition involving a hole in the fetal heart that will prematurely close if a pregnant Mom takes Ibuprofen, but I say nothing. Who am I?

In other random news, Jillian chose Ed. ED? Jillian, really? Ed, the cheese-face that wears tight green shorts from a 70s basketball team? Aarrrgh.

In other random news, did you all know that 'pinky' toe is actually spelled 'pinkie'? Fascinating.

Go see Keely for more actual randomness. My toe hurts too much to generate more randomness.

Read more...

Writer's Workshop: Giddy as a School Girl

3.) What are YOU giddy about? Mama Kat's third prompt was written for me today. I'm as giddy as a school girl.

Yesterday, I got a phone call that made me very happy.. excited.. ecstatic.. and, well, giddy. I have been chosen to be a Discussion Leader at the new Mom's social networking site, Moms Like Me. It's a pilot program, with localized Mom's sites up in cities all over the country, with topics geared to us, the Mom, and is just the perfect extension of my life. Check me (us) out!

My role will be to start discussions, reply to ongoing discussions, help users out with the site, welcome new users and help with site management monitoring. In short, it will be like breathing for me.

What do I do all day long? Check email. Talk to other Moms. Check blog comments. Talk to my toddler. Talk to my Mom friends' toddlers. Check the market. Complain about pregnancy discomforts. Chide the dogs for nabbing the pita bread off the counter while we were at the park. Eat. Talk about eating. Potty train. Play.

Ok, ok. I do other stuff too. But the point of all this is, I'm extremely excited to forge this new partnership, and yes.. I'm giddy like a school girl.

Full Disclosure: I am being compensated for my role at MLM.

That's right!!! Comp-en-sated! Let's just call it my first book deal!!

No, on second thought, let's climb back down the reality pole. But hey, it's a start!

Read more...

RTT: It's Tuesday! (Is It Only Tuesday?)

It just feels like more week has passed than that. I guess that means we have lives.

They say that when you have kids, life is never ever (ever) the same. I would surmise most new parents fight off this inevitable truth, but in our case, I would absolutely confirm it. Yesterday, I realized it's just not worth fighting. And we can all agree on how stupendously wonderful and worth it parenting is, but yes. We hand over the keys to our lives and our child promptly begins teething on them. Then hiding them. Then tossing them into drain covers. Then using them to drive the car.

Take yesterday, for example. I had three very in-depth, very detailed, very lengthy conversations about potty training with three people from very different aspects of my life: one near stranger, one new friend, and my husband. The conversations were essentially around the same theme: "Potty training is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're going to get." Our lives really are not our own.

Have you ever seen that bumper sticker, "Commit Random Acts of Kindness?" What a Disaster if the K was rubbed off, and a passerby interpreted this as "Commit Random Acts of Blindness", walking out into oncoming traffic.

My husband and I got into a debate last night at dinner over what year the Challenger disaster happened. I was referencing the event as "the event" that my generation remembers from their childhood, like the Kennedy assassination for our parents. Where we were sitting. Whom was around us at the time. What we thought about it. Just thinking for a moment.. do you remember what year the terrible Challenger tragedy happened? I'll give you the answer at the end of the post.

Every morning for the past week, I've been waking up with a different random song in my head, some for no obvious reason. Yesterday was "Don't Speak", and I blame credit Keely with her No Doubt references.. check her out today at Un-Mom.

So, the answer. What was your guess? Was it January 28, 1986? Then you're right.
I guessed 1984, having pictured the classroom I was sitting in at the time.

Read more...

State of Blogging

When I started blogging, like everyone else, I stalked my email to read each and every comment the moment it came in. I counted comments like a dieter counts calories.. they meant everything to me. Every time I gained a Follower (oops, now inextricably called "Members".. more on this opinion later,) I sat atop of the Blogging World.

Boy, was I drinking the Blogging Kool-Aid.

Well, a few things have happened since then. Life has gotten busy and my blog has taken a hit as a result. Translation: I lost a follower. Er, a member. My membership declined this week. And I didn't expect it to, but you know what? It bothers me.

I've also held off posting certain needy emotional posts while at my most pregnancy-infused hormonal. Enough holding back.

When I wrote and posted Pacing the Cage last week, the supportive comments (and emails from those of you that have the chore joy of knowing me in real life), and of course the comments from all my Facebook friends who lazily read my blog on FB instead of coming to taste the "real thing", were exactly what I needed.

They were the chords of Hope, Joy, Love and "I'm Here" sung to me from all parts of my life. The elixir of friendship, of compassion, of empathy. Of therapy.

In a word? My blog, and by extension all of you, became my saving grace.

So I'm here to say that I'm back. I'm going to crawl out of this deep well of blogging slump that I've found myself in. One rock (post) at a time. Can you tell that we just checked out "The Frog in the Well" from the Library today?

Oh, and Thanks.

Read more...

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.

Read more...

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.

Read more...

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.

Read more...