all of you who say you were awful teenagers... please tell me how *you* define awful. AND how you define normal in the relative sense of a teenager's behavior. I was neither normal nor awful but I'll share more about that later. I think a lot of my problem has to do with the fact that I really have no frame of reference for dealing with this, for dealing with my teen son's attitude and behavior.
I think this could be therapeutic for you too, not just me. So, please share your memories and your definitions.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Thursday, June 22, 2006
mammalodrama
I have to be brief because I'm exhausted. But I probably won't be able to sleep unless I do at least a partial dump, so here goes...
I sent Hyde to his room on Friday afternoon after he was disrespectful to me. He didn't come out for dinner, and when I went to check on him I found his room empty and the window mesh-screen ripped. No word from him all night, or Saturday morning, so we made a police report. When we got home, there was a message from him, left just a few minutes earlier that he'd been in a car accident while in his "other mother's" company (this is my friend who's in the middle of an ugly divorce). Turns out he'd called her, lied to her and she'd taken him and her kids to lunch. After lunch, she ran a red light (did I mention she's in the middle of a nasty divorce and custody battle?) and t-boned another vehicle. Everyone in her car, including my son, was fine. But it was a mess and the cops were there, so it's a good thing I was home to tell them that it was ok for my son to be in her car. And, since she didn't have enough to deal with, Hyde decided that he didn't want to come home that night so he got to spend it at her house. I spent the whole weekend crying, questioning whether I'm fit to mother anyone, and whether my family wouldn't be better off without me. Lucky for me, Sunday's sermon was dead on and snapped me out of my pity party. And that I have some amazing women friends who inspire and encourage me every time I want to shrivel up and die.
Hyde came home on Sunday night, after he and Mo (God bless my husband) played in a Father/Son Ultimate Frisbee game that some of our friends organized at a nearby park. Mo has been icing his knee since then, because no one was kidding about the ultimate part of the game. Things have been weird at home, to say the least. What's gonna happen the next time I say no to Hyde? And, as part of the whole ordeal, I've been on MySpace waaaaaaaaaaaaaay more than I'd ever care to so I can keep track of the adolescent chatter and try to figure out where Hyde's head's at, as well as what his friends are like. It's scary. I'd like my blinders back on please, and bring me a stiff martini while you're at it...
So, today. After two days of relative calm, today I'm in the kitchen fixing lunch and look over to see my almost-15yo son pretending to repeatedly one-two punch his 23mo brother. I've warned Hyde before about the way in which he plays with his little brother, and I have to once again point out that this type of "play" is not acceptable. Fast forward to 7pm, Mo and I are getting ready so we can all go to a benefit concert and I hear a weird sound coming from my bedroom door. I open the door and, to my horror, see Hyde swinging El Niño towards the door like a battering ram... I. lost. it. After I made sure that the baby was ok and left him with Mo in our room, I went completely nuts and yelled at Hyde until I lost my voice.
I'm scared because I don't know how to fix this, because I feel like I've lost my first child. Some commenters asked a while back if Hyde is maybe having issues at being "replaced" by his little brother, and from having "lost" his place as man of the house when I married Mo. It's possible. My friend Vic also pointed out to me a few months ago that he may have anger issues tied to his absent bio-father. That's possible too. There are so many reasons, really, for him to be angry and dysfunctional. And this is what I'm dealing with, this is why I may be on a hiatus from the blog... not sure yet what I'm gonna do about anything.
I sent Hyde to his room on Friday afternoon after he was disrespectful to me. He didn't come out for dinner, and when I went to check on him I found his room empty and the window mesh-screen ripped. No word from him all night, or Saturday morning, so we made a police report. When we got home, there was a message from him, left just a few minutes earlier that he'd been in a car accident while in his "other mother's" company (this is my friend who's in the middle of an ugly divorce). Turns out he'd called her, lied to her and she'd taken him and her kids to lunch. After lunch, she ran a red light (did I mention she's in the middle of a nasty divorce and custody battle?) and t-boned another vehicle. Everyone in her car, including my son, was fine. But it was a mess and the cops were there, so it's a good thing I was home to tell them that it was ok for my son to be in her car. And, since she didn't have enough to deal with, Hyde decided that he didn't want to come home that night so he got to spend it at her house. I spent the whole weekend crying, questioning whether I'm fit to mother anyone, and whether my family wouldn't be better off without me. Lucky for me, Sunday's sermon was dead on and snapped me out of my pity party. And that I have some amazing women friends who inspire and encourage me every time I want to shrivel up and die.
Hyde came home on Sunday night, after he and Mo (God bless my husband) played in a Father/Son Ultimate Frisbee game that some of our friends organized at a nearby park. Mo has been icing his knee since then, because no one was kidding about the ultimate part of the game. Things have been weird at home, to say the least. What's gonna happen the next time I say no to Hyde? And, as part of the whole ordeal, I've been on MySpace waaaaaaaaaaaaaay more than I'd ever care to so I can keep track of the adolescent chatter and try to figure out where Hyde's head's at, as well as what his friends are like. It's scary. I'd like my blinders back on please, and bring me a stiff martini while you're at it...
So, today. After two days of relative calm, today I'm in the kitchen fixing lunch and look over to see my almost-15yo son pretending to repeatedly one-two punch his 23mo brother. I've warned Hyde before about the way in which he plays with his little brother, and I have to once again point out that this type of "play" is not acceptable. Fast forward to 7pm, Mo and I are getting ready so we can all go to a benefit concert and I hear a weird sound coming from my bedroom door. I open the door and, to my horror, see Hyde swinging El Niño towards the door like a battering ram... I. lost. it. After I made sure that the baby was ok and left him with Mo in our room, I went completely nuts and yelled at Hyde until I lost my voice.
I'm scared because I don't know how to fix this, because I feel like I've lost my first child. Some commenters asked a while back if Hyde is maybe having issues at being "replaced" by his little brother, and from having "lost" his place as man of the house when I married Mo. It's possible. My friend Vic also pointed out to me a few months ago that he may have anger issues tied to his absent bio-father. That's possible too. There are so many reasons, really, for him to be angry and dysfunctional. And this is what I'm dealing with, this is why I may be on a hiatus from the blog... not sure yet what I'm gonna do about anything.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
fonts... WTF?
ok, can I just say it's royally bugging me that my old posts are all showing up with a thick font that looks awful? I've tried to edit them but it's not working... so now what?
and on a totally unrelated topic, if anyone out there can tell me how I can get some music I have on a children's music tape (that is apparently no longer available for sale) onto a CD, I'd be most grateful.
and on a totally unrelated topic, if anyone out there can tell me how I can get some music I have on a children's music tape (that is apparently no longer available for sale) onto a CD, I'd be most grateful.
misty watercolor memories
So, according to Mo I'm acting strange... maybe another funk is coming on (or the last one never left me), maybe it's just PMS. Today I decided to listen with El Niño to some of the music I grew up with, and I found myself getting very choked up. He, of course, was totally dancing all over the place.
My dad loved music, and I've mentioned before that we had a routine on Sunday mornings of listening to Prokofiev's Peter and the Wolf, and then an assortment of other kinds of music -- classical, jazz (Daddy loved Miles Davis and Benny Goodman), the Beatles, and even some amazing recordings of Russian marching bands. While my mother's taste in music stagnated in the rarefied offerings of PuertoRican public radio (the worst most obscure operas anyone could ever dig up), I got to listen to everything else with my dad. He even bought me the Foreigner 4 album, Queen's Greatest Hits, Prince's Purple Rain and Cindy Lauper's She's So Unusual. But my first and somewhat secret love is the nueva trova music that I heard at parties, at the university (where my parents worked), everywhere I went in PR as a child of the late 70's and early 80's. Let me tell you, I have no idea how that 8-track of Haciendo Punto en Otro Son's debut album survived being played over and over and over, until I memorized all the songs and came to believe they were thinking of me while writing them.
I wish I knew how to set things up so I could share an online "mix tape" of this music with everyone, just like Dutch did. Oh well, I cannot... this is something else I'll have to learn how to do, right? I hope anyone out there reading this will feel like going through the trouble of discovering the music created by the incredibly talented musicians of the Haciendo Punto ensemble, as well as solo artists Pablo Milanés, Víctor Jara, and Mercedes Sosa. They are my favorites, the ones I listened to when I was a rebellious teen in Puerto Rico, a lonely college student in Manhattan, a melancholy and out-of-my-element single mom in Sacramento, and now... whenever I need to feel my roots, feel my heritage in ways I don't yet know how to explain.
The CD we listened to today was Punto Final, which was recorded live during what was supposed to be the final reunion concert of Haciendo Punto. My then-boyfriend and I stood in line because each person was only allowed to purchase two tickets -- the concert took place in the relatively small venue of the University of Puerto Rico Theater, once home to the Casals Festival -- and we'd promised my grandfather and great-aunt that we'd take them. The experience of being in that theater with them, of watching my Über-conservative great-aunt mouthing the words to every one of their beautiful, patriotic (and liberal, pro-independence, possibly communist!) songs with tears in her eyes while they performed is something I'll treasure forever. When I listen to that CD, I feel like I'm there again. It makes me hope for my country, even as my heart breaks and I'm reminded of how things are now, all these years after those songs were first written. I'm glad I can play it for my sons, so I can give them a taste of Puerto Rico, like when I cook rice & beans for them. Maybe they'll be the future of my beautiful island...
***
Speaking of music, I finally listened to Pink Martini this weekend, and I liked it. If you're not in the mood for Latin American protest music, this may be a more lighthearted and fun choice for you.
Carry on, then!
My dad loved music, and I've mentioned before that we had a routine on Sunday mornings of listening to Prokofiev's Peter and the Wolf, and then an assortment of other kinds of music -- classical, jazz (Daddy loved Miles Davis and Benny Goodman), the Beatles, and even some amazing recordings of Russian marching bands. While my mother's taste in music stagnated in the rarefied offerings of PuertoRican public radio (the worst most obscure operas anyone could ever dig up), I got to listen to everything else with my dad. He even bought me the Foreigner 4 album, Queen's Greatest Hits, Prince's Purple Rain and Cindy Lauper's She's So Unusual. But my first and somewhat secret love is the nueva trova music that I heard at parties, at the university (where my parents worked), everywhere I went in PR as a child of the late 70's and early 80's. Let me tell you, I have no idea how that 8-track of Haciendo Punto en Otro Son's debut album survived being played over and over and over, until I memorized all the songs and came to believe they were thinking of me while writing them.
I wish I knew how to set things up so I could share an online "mix tape" of this music with everyone, just like Dutch did. Oh well, I cannot... this is something else I'll have to learn how to do, right? I hope anyone out there reading this will feel like going through the trouble of discovering the music created by the incredibly talented musicians of the Haciendo Punto ensemble, as well as solo artists Pablo Milanés, Víctor Jara, and Mercedes Sosa. They are my favorites, the ones I listened to when I was a rebellious teen in Puerto Rico, a lonely college student in Manhattan, a melancholy and out-of-my-element single mom in Sacramento, and now... whenever I need to feel my roots, feel my heritage in ways I don't yet know how to explain.
The CD we listened to today was Punto Final, which was recorded live during what was supposed to be the final reunion concert of Haciendo Punto. My then-boyfriend and I stood in line because each person was only allowed to purchase two tickets -- the concert took place in the relatively small venue of the University of Puerto Rico Theater, once home to the Casals Festival -- and we'd promised my grandfather and great-aunt that we'd take them. The experience of being in that theater with them, of watching my Über-conservative great-aunt mouthing the words to every one of their beautiful, patriotic (and liberal, pro-independence, possibly communist!) songs with tears in her eyes while they performed is something I'll treasure forever. When I listen to that CD, I feel like I'm there again. It makes me hope for my country, even as my heart breaks and I'm reminded of how things are now, all these years after those songs were first written. I'm glad I can play it for my sons, so I can give them a taste of Puerto Rico, like when I cook rice & beans for them. Maybe they'll be the future of my beautiful island...
***
Speaking of music, I finally listened to Pink Martini this weekend, and I liked it. If you're not in the mood for Latin American protest music, this may be a more lighthearted and fun choice for you.
Carry on, then!
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Supercalifragilistic-Kozy-a-lidocious
I mentioned a while back that I would soon be receiving a wearable work of art, courtesy of Kelley at Kozy Carrier (and Mo's mom, it was her birthday gift to me). Well, it's been here for about a month and I couldn't love it more! Yah, I know, I took my sweet time to post the promised pictures but it's very hard to capture the beauty of this carrier in pictures, much less indoor pictures (do you *know* what the weather's like around here?). We went to the park today with the camera because it was totally gorgeous outside, and Mo took these pictures so I could share with my blog peeps. StefanieRJ told me this looks like what she'll wear when she finally gets her "Queen of the World" title and I knew exactly what she meant because I feel positively regal whenever I put it on. That, and I get a little bit of a plushie thing going on when I'm near it, all I want to do is pet it!
Okay, in this second picture I'm carrying him way too high... honestly, we were all tired and ready to go home but mamma needed more piccies. The idea is that the child's head should be at a perfect level for one to effortlessly kiss the TOP of their head; anyone can see that I could've effortlessly kissed his neck the way I'm pictured carrying him. *sigh* I wanted to show off that I can carry my two-year old comfortably in this, so I can properly convey why it is that I love these carriers so much.
***
So, if you're in the PDX Metro, listen up!
there'll be a free babywearing workshop on 6/11 from 2-3 pm at the Wild Oats in Vancouver. Melissa Cole, of Natural Family 101, will be leading this workshop and everyone is welcome. There will be a brief discussion about the benefits of babywearing as well as hands-on practice and one-on-one help with many sample carriers to try out as well as handouts and resource lists.
If you can't make it, join the Portland NINO group and learn about upcoming get-togethers and workshops, as well as the Babywearing Conference at Reed College this August 3-6.
***
This last is an indoor picture. I decided to throw it in because I love the way my sweetie looks in it. And don't even think about rushing over to the Kozy site to order one of these. The opportunity is past. I sat on a waiting list for six months to be able to get this one-of-a-kind carrier. You'll have to make do with one made out of canvas, which is really not a sacrifice at all (and the little strap pocket they have is very convenient and ingenious, it's the only thing missing from my velveteen & silk beauty). Proudly made in the USA, baby!
Friday, June 02, 2006
wrap me up!
Remember when I said I'd gladly be mummiffied in a wrap? Well, let's make that two, shall we? I *thought* I was passionately in love with Purple Waves (left) but it turns out I'm also in love with Aubergine Waves (right)... they're slightly different in their purple/blue shading, and I'm a sucker for anything in that part of the color spectrum. Many thanks to Lori for allowing me to use her picture. If you visit her site you'll get to enjoy pictures of her incredible collection of Didymos wraps, along with her three adorable kids and many different domesticated critters. I think I may just have to go visit her one day...
I haven't posted a picture of my new "fancy" Kozy because I haven't managed to get a nice one taken outside, in natural light. It's very hard to capture the beauty of velveteen and silk indoors... plus, I've been so cranky lately I didn't think I could find the appropriate words to do it justice.
For those who are reading this and are interested in baby carriers but find wraps and MeiTais (like the Kozy) intimidating, there's always the Ergo or the bECOpack. I think if you get a BabyBjorn as a present or hand-me-down (I got one as the latter), it's fine and will do the trick for you, it's just that for the same amount of money you can get one of these other carriers that'll last longer, be more versatile and more comfortable for you and your baby. Just my opinion. And, I like the bECO better because it has a taller body AND it can be customized with different fabric choices. For me, the Ergo is too plain (I realize for some that'd be a bonus). There's a picture on the bECO site of a 4th Gen made out of Marimekko fabric -- look at the "customs" -- that made my jaw hit the floor. I've always been a sucker for Marimekko prints, and still prefer them over the usual Amy Butler and Robert Kaufman offerings. (ok, I know I'm gonna be pelted with tomatoes now!) Hmmmmm, if I could get enough traffic to this blog, I might be able to hook myself up with some ad-revenue goodness and fund babycarriers... would y'all that are reading this tell your friends to come by? We could sure use the cash, thanks!
Just kidding. Actually, I want to thank y'all again for reading and commenting -- those of you who do, I know there're also some regular lurkers who never comment. I've been really low lately (no! really?!?!? none of you had noticed, right?) and it's very encouraging & validating to read your comments. But I won't bore you by getting mushy.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
this 'n that
How is it the first day of June already??? I feel so unaccomplished: potty-training is still in progress, weaning hasn't even begun, and I have no job prospects. Oh, and my teenage son actually said in counseling on Tuesday that a) he doesn't believe I *really* love him, and b) I fake migraines to get out of doing stuff. Heh.
The rash I've been struggling with for a week and half is still there, still itchy and annoying and spreading from my chest to my arms and neck. I went to see my doctor about it yesterday and he assured me it wasn't contagious, although he had no idea what it could be among any number of skin rashes, then prescribed a steroid cream (isn't that the medical profession's catchall solution?). Hopefully it won't lead to me growing some chest hair, because I'm not sure I can reasonably handle that too. As it is, shaving the usual parts is a bitch; who has all that time? Of course, I did a Google search and found this, which seems quite plausible as it describes *exactly* what I've experienced so far. I'm supposed to call doc tomorrow if the steroid cream isn't working or my voice has deepened, so we'll see. Mo says the rash looks worse today (thanks, Love!), and the itch is still there although not as bothersome. I wonder if this is the reason why I've had a migraine since Saturday? (or am I faking it?)
I dunno... I feel like I'm failing. Like, if I were going to get graded for how I'm doing with my life right now I'd get a D minus. You know what else is bugging the crap out of me? We have a birdfeeder and two birdhouses that were very popular at the house we used to live in. Now they're hung up on our balcony and I have yet to see ONE bird come near any of them. WTF???
ok, enough with the whining. I have to share some good stuff, and then I need to go answer a gazillion emails from people who actually want to go on playdates and stuff with us. But, I've been keeping myself under quarantine, just in case I had some skin version of the bird flu, ya know.
So, El Niño's belting out a new-word-a-day now. Thanks to BMC, I got the idea last week to teach him "help" (sign and word) for those times when he gets frustrated or I need him to cooperate, and whaddayaknoo it worked! We've had great success with it during toy pickup sessions, clothing changes and pretty much everything else we do around here. Yesterday he surprised me while we were singing Old McDonald by saying "dow" while making the sign for cow. And I found out that he also knows the word "rain", which he'd said to Daddy (who didn't share this news with Mami in a timely manner, the big booger).
The other thing that's really cute is that he's definitely a treehugger. Literally. Ever since he was a few months old, he'd reach out towards a tree if we were walking close to it. We'd always smile and walk him over so he could touch it, and he'd get a huge grin on his face. It's one of the most popular signs for him to make and he can spot a tree in a picture, painting, IRL, anywhere. Now that he walks, he likes to walk over to trees and *touch* them, the way most kids like to walk over and pet dogs or other babies... Ehhh, he could grow up to head the Sierra Club someday!
As for Hyde, I don't know what to do about him. There are times when I wish I could put him in a rocket and send him to outer space for a few years. I worry that I can't get past this emotional divide, this anger of his at me, and my correspondent anger and hurt at the fact that all my efforts at being a good parent have seemingly been for naught. I mean, if after everything we've been through he still doesn't believe I love him!?!?! Maybe it's because I let him watch too much television when he was a toddler...
The rash I've been struggling with for a week and half is still there, still itchy and annoying and spreading from my chest to my arms and neck. I went to see my doctor about it yesterday and he assured me it wasn't contagious, although he had no idea what it could be among any number of skin rashes, then prescribed a steroid cream (isn't that the medical profession's catchall solution?). Hopefully it won't lead to me growing some chest hair, because I'm not sure I can reasonably handle that too. As it is, shaving the usual parts is a bitch; who has all that time? Of course, I did a Google search and found this, which seems quite plausible as it describes *exactly* what I've experienced so far. I'm supposed to call doc tomorrow if the steroid cream isn't working or my voice has deepened, so we'll see. Mo says the rash looks worse today (thanks, Love!), and the itch is still there although not as bothersome. I wonder if this is the reason why I've had a migraine since Saturday? (or am I faking it?)
I dunno... I feel like I'm failing. Like, if I were going to get graded for how I'm doing with my life right now I'd get a D minus. You know what else is bugging the crap out of me? We have a birdfeeder and two birdhouses that were very popular at the house we used to live in. Now they're hung up on our balcony and I have yet to see ONE bird come near any of them. WTF???
ok, enough with the whining. I have to share some good stuff, and then I need to go answer a gazillion emails from people who actually want to go on playdates and stuff with us. But, I've been keeping myself under quarantine, just in case I had some skin version of the bird flu, ya know.
So, El Niño's belting out a new-word-a-day now. Thanks to BMC, I got the idea last week to teach him "help" (sign and word) for those times when he gets frustrated or I need him to cooperate, and whaddayaknoo it worked! We've had great success with it during toy pickup sessions, clothing changes and pretty much everything else we do around here. Yesterday he surprised me while we were singing Old McDonald by saying "dow" while making the sign for cow. And I found out that he also knows the word "rain", which he'd said to Daddy (who didn't share this news with Mami in a timely manner, the big booger).
The other thing that's really cute is that he's definitely a treehugger. Literally. Ever since he was a few months old, he'd reach out towards a tree if we were walking close to it. We'd always smile and walk him over so he could touch it, and he'd get a huge grin on his face. It's one of the most popular signs for him to make and he can spot a tree in a picture, painting, IRL, anywhere. Now that he walks, he likes to walk over to trees and *touch* them, the way most kids like to walk over and pet dogs or other babies... Ehhh, he could grow up to head the Sierra Club someday!
As for Hyde, I don't know what to do about him. There are times when I wish I could put him in a rocket and send him to outer space for a few years. I worry that I can't get past this emotional divide, this anger of his at me, and my correspondent anger and hurt at the fact that all my efforts at being a good parent have seemingly been for naught. I mean, if after everything we've been through he still doesn't believe I love him!?!?! Maybe it's because I let him watch too much television when he was a toddler...
Saturday, May 27, 2006
the sun'll come out tomorrow...
The song "Tomorrow" from Annie got me through big chunks of my childhood. I am feeling better today, in part because I finally really opened up about all this stuff I've been bottling up for years. I can admit that my faith is struggling under the weight of my past, and is hardly able to sustain me. But I know my faith is still there, like a pilot light just waiting to be put to use. This week just really SUCKED and it didn't help matters that I was exhausted physically and emotionally. Mo's car even got towed on Thursday afternoon, you know, just in case we were starting to feel better... and I've developed a strange rash that is NOT stress-induced hives. Heh. I keep telling myself that at least we're all healthy, our marriage is healthy, and we have a roof over our heads. We're not living in Darfur.
I also allowed myself to indulge in a lot of snark over the past couple of days. A LOT. Television Without Pity and Mr. Nice Guy, I salute thee for helping me get through this. Also, Dutch's posts about the Bay-to-Breakers race, along with all the associated pictures (not for the faint of heart, just letting you know).
So, I think I'm gonna go try to take a nap. Hopefully, El Niño will join me. Mo's gonna make pizza for dinner, which is my kind of comfort food and his specialty. And the long weekend will give me the opportunity to spend a lot of time in my lover's arms. Maybe I'll cheer up enough to post a picture of my incredibly soft and beautiful new Kozy carrier before the weekend's over.
I also allowed myself to indulge in a lot of snark over the past couple of days. A LOT. Television Without Pity and Mr. Nice Guy, I salute thee for helping me get through this. Also, Dutch's posts about the Bay-to-Breakers race, along with all the associated pictures (not for the faint of heart, just letting you know).
So, I think I'm gonna go try to take a nap. Hopefully, El Niño will join me. Mo's gonna make pizza for dinner, which is my kind of comfort food and his specialty. And the long weekend will give me the opportunity to spend a lot of time in my lover's arms. Maybe I'll cheer up enough to post a picture of my incredibly soft and beautiful new Kozy carrier before the weekend's over.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
on the verge...
it's really a shame that one of my favorite movies ever, Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, doesn't translate well to audiences that don't speak Spanish. The movie's fucking brilliant. It's a very campy, very 80's portrayal of 24 hours in the life of a woman on the brink of suicide by first finding out that her lover has unexplainably left her, and then that she's pregnant by him. What follows is so absurd, it almost circles back to being perfectly rational. And that's why I think it's brilliant.
My life has, on so many occasions, taken such ludicrous turns as to seem irrationally logical. My Godmother used to joke that the things that happened to me in real life always reminded her of the old Perils of Pauline serial. Living a cliffhanger-like existence isn't good for one's sanity, tho. I have found myself many times on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and have quite possibly experienced one or two "mild" ones. It's quite possible, for example, that I was in the middle of one when I became unmarried & pregnant at 21... didn't quite manage to dodge THAT bullet, did I?
The raison d' etre for this post is that I'm feeling "that way" again, feeling my neck muscles so tight that I'm afraid they're going to crack, feeling the pressure all over my head and that void in the pit of my stomach and the temptation to just. allow. myself. to step outside. for a bit. Into the twilight zone. Because the life my body is occupying right now just doesn't seem right. It's a bit too... OFF. And I don't know how to convey this to Mo in a way he can understand it. I'm the one prone to angst, not him. He really doesn't get why I care about half the shit I do, and when I care SO much that I can't stop crying... well, what can he do other than hold me?
The by-product of finding out the other day that my friend Joan died in Puerto Rico, was that my uncle left a message asking me to call him back. What's that line from The Godfather, the one where Don Corleone says something to the effect that no matter how he tries to get away [from the mob life], he always gets dragged back in? This uncle is my mother's brother, a man I used to love and respect, until he came to visit me four years ago -- on the pretext of going camping with Hyde and I -- and dropped the bomb after he arrived that he has a whole other family on the side that no one else in my family knew about. It was supposed to be our fucking little secret, he just needed someone to talk to about it because it was stressful for him. Ah, thanks for sharing! Then, a year later he came up with some lame excuse for not coming to my wedding (like I get married every day, right?), although he did finally show thanks to my other non-insane family members who talked him into it. But I digress from the point of this post, this particular phone call. The deal is that, since El Niño was born we've spoken four times, and the last two times I've cried for a looooooong time after hanging up. My uncle deals with his emotional baggage by being The Rescuer. He is currently taking care of my mother and this is what he wanted to update me on. If you've read any of my other posts, you know that I have serious issues with my parents, most especially my mother. She is mentally ill, has been forever and most likely undiagnosed for Narcissistic Personality Disorder. But he doesn't get it, doesn't get that she needs to be institutionalized because she is a danger to herself and others, and so he insists instead on recounting for me in detail the "strange" things that she does and the way that she acts and lives. How much more weight she's gained, how she doesn't take care of her diabetes, how she appears to be developing symptoms that could signal the onset of Parkinson's. His parting comment to me on Monday night is that if she were to die in the apartment she lives in (an apartment he owns and provides free of charge to her, even tho she is verbally abusive to him every chance she gets), she wouldn't even be found because of the smell... there would be no smell. The apartment has excellent cross-ventilation and the smell would be dissipated away from the neigbors. None of her friends have a key to the place, and he's usually away on business. He wanted me to know this. And I have to ask myself, WHY? Why did he make a point to tell me this? And why does that thought, the thought of her slowly decomposing while no one knows, terrify me so much? Why does the image of her nearly choking to death in the bathroom of a Ponderosa Steakhouse two weeks ago freak me out?
All my life, I've been terrified not just of my mother but of becoming my mother. Every time someone said I looked just like her or I talked just like her, I wanted to scream. Did they not see the differences? how could they miss them? I have my father's coloring, his nose and his lips. As I've become a mother and an adult woman (in my case, they pretty much happened at the same time), I've strived to avoid any similarities between the two of us. But the fear, the irrational, blind panic that it's inevitable for me to become just like her has rarely left me. Now that I'm older, sometimes I see her looking back at me in the bathroom mirror. I do NOT want to be that woman, I do not want to be that mother.
So, this is where I'm at, today. I feel like I'm on the verge... I have a wonderful husband who struggles to support me through this. I have a teenage son who -- unfairly -- thinks I'm an awful mother. And I have a tantrummy toddler who's teething. Somehow, I'll get through the day, and tomorrow will be better than today, just like today was better than yesterday. I'm in a quiet panic. I'm fighting the urge to crawl into a corner of my bathroom in a fetal position and keep the world at bay for as long as possible. I never set out to make this an angst-filled record of my days, I wanted to be funny and clever like so many of the other bloggers I read. But this is my life, right now. My throat is constricted and I'm blinking back the tears, focusing on taking the next breath and hoping Mo will get home soon so I can bury myself in his arms.
And finally, a big thank you to all of you who have visited and left comments in the last week about my friend Joan. She really was an amazing woman and I'm sure she would've loved to read all your blogs. She would've adopted you all too.
My life has, on so many occasions, taken such ludicrous turns as to seem irrationally logical. My Godmother used to joke that the things that happened to me in real life always reminded her of the old Perils of Pauline serial. Living a cliffhanger-like existence isn't good for one's sanity, tho. I have found myself many times on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and have quite possibly experienced one or two "mild" ones. It's quite possible, for example, that I was in the middle of one when I became unmarried & pregnant at 21... didn't quite manage to dodge THAT bullet, did I?
The raison d' etre for this post is that I'm feeling "that way" again, feeling my neck muscles so tight that I'm afraid they're going to crack, feeling the pressure all over my head and that void in the pit of my stomach and the temptation to just. allow. myself. to step outside. for a bit. Into the twilight zone. Because the life my body is occupying right now just doesn't seem right. It's a bit too... OFF. And I don't know how to convey this to Mo in a way he can understand it. I'm the one prone to angst, not him. He really doesn't get why I care about half the shit I do, and when I care SO much that I can't stop crying... well, what can he do other than hold me?
The by-product of finding out the other day that my friend Joan died in Puerto Rico, was that my uncle left a message asking me to call him back. What's that line from The Godfather, the one where Don Corleone says something to the effect that no matter how he tries to get away [from the mob life], he always gets dragged back in? This uncle is my mother's brother, a man I used to love and respect, until he came to visit me four years ago -- on the pretext of going camping with Hyde and I -- and dropped the bomb after he arrived that he has a whole other family on the side that no one else in my family knew about. It was supposed to be our fucking little secret, he just needed someone to talk to about it because it was stressful for him. Ah, thanks for sharing! Then, a year later he came up with some lame excuse for not coming to my wedding (like I get married every day, right?), although he did finally show thanks to my other non-insane family members who talked him into it. But I digress from the point of this post, this particular phone call. The deal is that, since El Niño was born we've spoken four times, and the last two times I've cried for a looooooong time after hanging up. My uncle deals with his emotional baggage by being The Rescuer. He is currently taking care of my mother and this is what he wanted to update me on. If you've read any of my other posts, you know that I have serious issues with my parents, most especially my mother. She is mentally ill, has been forever and most likely undiagnosed for Narcissistic Personality Disorder. But he doesn't get it, doesn't get that she needs to be institutionalized because she is a danger to herself and others, and so he insists instead on recounting for me in detail the "strange" things that she does and the way that she acts and lives. How much more weight she's gained, how she doesn't take care of her diabetes, how she appears to be developing symptoms that could signal the onset of Parkinson's. His parting comment to me on Monday night is that if she were to die in the apartment she lives in (an apartment he owns and provides free of charge to her, even tho she is verbally abusive to him every chance she gets), she wouldn't even be found because of the smell... there would be no smell. The apartment has excellent cross-ventilation and the smell would be dissipated away from the neigbors. None of her friends have a key to the place, and he's usually away on business. He wanted me to know this. And I have to ask myself, WHY? Why did he make a point to tell me this? And why does that thought, the thought of her slowly decomposing while no one knows, terrify me so much? Why does the image of her nearly choking to death in the bathroom of a Ponderosa Steakhouse two weeks ago freak me out?
All my life, I've been terrified not just of my mother but of becoming my mother. Every time someone said I looked just like her or I talked just like her, I wanted to scream. Did they not see the differences? how could they miss them? I have my father's coloring, his nose and his lips. As I've become a mother and an adult woman (in my case, they pretty much happened at the same time), I've strived to avoid any similarities between the two of us. But the fear, the irrational, blind panic that it's inevitable for me to become just like her has rarely left me. Now that I'm older, sometimes I see her looking back at me in the bathroom mirror. I do NOT want to be that woman, I do not want to be that mother.
So, this is where I'm at, today. I feel like I'm on the verge... I have a wonderful husband who struggles to support me through this. I have a teenage son who -- unfairly -- thinks I'm an awful mother. And I have a tantrummy toddler who's teething. Somehow, I'll get through the day, and tomorrow will be better than today, just like today was better than yesterday. I'm in a quiet panic. I'm fighting the urge to crawl into a corner of my bathroom in a fetal position and keep the world at bay for as long as possible. I never set out to make this an angst-filled record of my days, I wanted to be funny and clever like so many of the other bloggers I read. But this is my life, right now. My throat is constricted and I'm blinking back the tears, focusing on taking the next breath and hoping Mo will get home soon so I can bury myself in his arms.
And finally, a big thank you to all of you who have visited and left comments in the last week about my friend Joan. She really was an amazing woman and I'm sure she would've loved to read all your blogs. She would've adopted you all too.
Friday, May 19, 2006
In Memoriam
I've finally had the opportunity to understand why I've been in such a funk for a while. It wasn't the budget situation in Puerto Rico, although that was very discouraging. It wasn't the myriad problems we've been having with Hyde for the last few months, although those have been maddening. And it isn't because I've been fried by the past couple of months' worth of El Niño's potty training and erratic sleep cycles.
My spirit knew before my mind did... that one of the most influential people in my life died in Puerto Rico on March 12th. But none of the people who knew felt compelled to let me know before today. So, I've just found out, and I'm hurt, bewildered and *pissed*.
Joan Miller was an incredible woman. She had a PhD in Special Education, and dedicated her career to training her college students to be the best, kindest and most creative teachers. She met me when I was 11 years old, and I immediately adopted her as part of my family. I needed someone as funny and loving as her in my life. She was nothing like any other woman I knew, and I loved her for it. At that time, most of the women I knew -- my mother and her friends -- were militant feminists who blamed men for everything that was wrong in their lives (that kind of militant feminists). I had a real problem with that. Joan never married but she also never had that disdain or contempt for men that I saw in the others, and that I certainly heard every day from my mother's lips.
Through the years, Joan took me under her wing much the way a loving aunt would. I could go to her home and hang out, relax. We could talk about anything because she would actually listen and treat my thoughts and feelings with respect. When I was 15, my boyfriend died and she sat with me for hours, talking until I was finally talked and cried out. She would travel the world every year, and once I got old enough she'd leave me to dog- and apartment-sit, which was like a paid vacation because she lived two blocks from the beach. Her dogs were strays: Rosa was a spaniel mutt she found as an abandoned sick puppy in a parking lot, and King was a mutt she found on the beach. She was good at loving strays, like me. I got her hooked on reading Agatha Christie mysteries when I was 14, she returned the favor by getting me hooked on Sara Paretsky and then Patricia Cornwell. She proudly hung on her dining room walls two watercolors I'd painted when I was five years old. That act in itself made me feel loved. See, my art had never been good enough to hang on my parents' walls...
When I got pregnant at 21 and had to drop out of school, she didn't hold it against me, because she knew how screwed up my life was then. She got Hyde a gorgeous wooden rocking horse that he loved, hugged & kissed like a puppy. Every year, she got him a present for Christmas, something my mother didn't do. She would send him postcards from every place she went to, and I think I've saved them all for him. She loved on him like a proud grandmother, never saying anything negative to him or to me. When he was diagnosed with ADHD, she sent me information on how to deal with it and also get the school system to help.
Joan didn't get to meet Mo, she wasn't able to attend our wedding almost three years ago because she hadn't been feeling well and she had too much going on at work. Of course, she got us an awesome present. A couple of months later, she had a massive, paralyzing stroke. I never got a chance to tell her about the new baby on the way, to tell her how happy I was/am and how Mo was worth waiting for all those years. I wish that I'd had the chance to share my new happiness with her. When I think of her, I see her smiling, her blue eyes bright and twinkling. I see her eating ice cream, and chuckling at the dogs' sillyness. I've been letting her go for the last two+ years, since the stroke left her in a hospital bed unable to even communicate, and yet it still hurts to think that she's really, truly gone and I won't see her again. During one of the last conversations we had, she promised that she'd be sitting there the day I graduated from college. That promise lives in my heart.
My spirit knew before my mind did... that one of the most influential people in my life died in Puerto Rico on March 12th. But none of the people who knew felt compelled to let me know before today. So, I've just found out, and I'm hurt, bewildered and *pissed*.
Joan Miller was an incredible woman. She had a PhD in Special Education, and dedicated her career to training her college students to be the best, kindest and most creative teachers. She met me when I was 11 years old, and I immediately adopted her as part of my family. I needed someone as funny and loving as her in my life. She was nothing like any other woman I knew, and I loved her for it. At that time, most of the women I knew -- my mother and her friends -- were militant feminists who blamed men for everything that was wrong in their lives (that kind of militant feminists). I had a real problem with that. Joan never married but she also never had that disdain or contempt for men that I saw in the others, and that I certainly heard every day from my mother's lips.
Through the years, Joan took me under her wing much the way a loving aunt would. I could go to her home and hang out, relax. We could talk about anything because she would actually listen and treat my thoughts and feelings with respect. When I was 15, my boyfriend died and she sat with me for hours, talking until I was finally talked and cried out. She would travel the world every year, and once I got old enough she'd leave me to dog- and apartment-sit, which was like a paid vacation because she lived two blocks from the beach. Her dogs were strays: Rosa was a spaniel mutt she found as an abandoned sick puppy in a parking lot, and King was a mutt she found on the beach. She was good at loving strays, like me. I got her hooked on reading Agatha Christie mysteries when I was 14, she returned the favor by getting me hooked on Sara Paretsky and then Patricia Cornwell. She proudly hung on her dining room walls two watercolors I'd painted when I was five years old. That act in itself made me feel loved. See, my art had never been good enough to hang on my parents' walls...
When I got pregnant at 21 and had to drop out of school, she didn't hold it against me, because she knew how screwed up my life was then. She got Hyde a gorgeous wooden rocking horse that he loved, hugged & kissed like a puppy. Every year, she got him a present for Christmas, something my mother didn't do. She would send him postcards from every place she went to, and I think I've saved them all for him. She loved on him like a proud grandmother, never saying anything negative to him or to me. When he was diagnosed with ADHD, she sent me information on how to deal with it and also get the school system to help.
Joan didn't get to meet Mo, she wasn't able to attend our wedding almost three years ago because she hadn't been feeling well and she had too much going on at work. Of course, she got us an awesome present. A couple of months later, she had a massive, paralyzing stroke. I never got a chance to tell her about the new baby on the way, to tell her how happy I was/am and how Mo was worth waiting for all those years. I wish that I'd had the chance to share my new happiness with her. When I think of her, I see her smiling, her blue eyes bright and twinkling. I see her eating ice cream, and chuckling at the dogs' sillyness. I've been letting her go for the last two+ years, since the stroke left her in a hospital bed unable to even communicate, and yet it still hurts to think that she's really, truly gone and I won't see her again. During one of the last conversations we had, she promised that she'd be sitting there the day I graduated from college. That promise lives in my heart.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
funk
for at least a week now, I've been in a weird funk. I can't figure out what's up but it's like a low-grade fever that's sapping me of what little positive energy I've usually got. And the dreams... ugh, the dreams I've been having SUCK. Mo acting all weird until I figure out that he's cheating on me. Or, my dad's still alive and I'm trying to run away from home, no matter what he does, how loving and patient he is. (Oh, I guess even *I* can figure this one out, now that I see it in writing. I'm so dense sometimes)
The situation back home gets uglier by the day. Maybe that's poisoning my soul a bit. People always ask me how I could leave such an island "paradise". Well, you can leave when your heart is broken, when you realize that those who are obvious candidates for a diagnosis of Narcissistic Personality Disorder are the only ones who ever get elected to higher office. It's not paradise when crazy people are running the show.
Anyway, this is where I'm at today. Maybe I'll get a good night's sleep now that I've vented.
The situation back home gets uglier by the day. Maybe that's poisoning my soul a bit. People always ask me how I could leave such an island "paradise". Well, you can leave when your heart is broken, when you realize that those who are obvious candidates for a diagnosis of Narcissistic Personality Disorder are the only ones who ever get elected to higher office. It's not paradise when crazy people are running the show.
Anyway, this is where I'm at today. Maybe I'll get a good night's sleep now that I've vented.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
multilingualism and other challenges
So anyway, Mo's hard work over the past month has paid off and El Niño is now saying the names of six colors. He still sometimes gets the colors mixed up but at least he can say the words bhue, ellow, red, oranj, geen, and puhpl. No, I'm not teaching him the Spanish equivalents. I'll let him get it totally straight in English first, then I'll teach them to him in my language. In the meantime, I'm trying to teach him to count from 1 - 5 in Spanish. I think that's a reasonable compromise. He's also obsessed with letters (especially W and its fraternal twin M; I tell him W is for wow, M is for Mami), so we're working on those as well, what the heck.
I knew going into this "experiment" that it'd be difficult, and that multilingual children have so much more to process that their speech usually lags behind that of their peers. The keys are consistency, persistence, and patience. That doesn't mean I don't get supremely bummed that other people's kids the same age are saying tons of things while mine seems to speak mostly in what sounds to me like a Scandinavian tongue. Sometimes, he doesn't even *try* and just makes earnest facial expressions while blurting out "BLAHLAHLAHLAHLAHLAHLAHLALA!" Thank God for ASL, although even then, we have some issues. The sign for cracker and tree are the same, as far as he's concerned. And since he can't bring himself to say please or thank you in Spanish or English, would it kill him to use the signs???
It's also interesting to see what he picks and chooses in order to communicate, and how he associates. It wasn't until he was 18mo that he *finally* consistently said "mami"; until then both parents were called "daddy". He still won't say his name, even though he's acknowledged it since before he was six months old. He has also never tried to say milk in either language, only ever makes the sign for it. He makes the sign for all sorts of animals we've taught him, and the sounds they make, but he hasn't once tried to say their names. Except for giraffe... because giraffes don't make a sound (at least not any that I could come up with). Same thing with car, he'll make the sign for it and the sound but he doesn't ever try to say the word. See how I'm running my very own linguistics experiment here? I could go on about this but I'm exhausted and need to go to sleep soon.
***
so my left eye won't stop twitching... anyone got any good suggestions on how to fix that? Other than sleep, because apparently my children are determined to never allow me to have another good night's sleep. Ever.
***
Our very own Prefontaine (that'd be Hyde) has two meets left in his Track season. He's been steadily improving his times but missed last week's meet because he was sick (we ALL got sick, again. THANKS Kid!). So now we're not sure if that'll set him back for the rest of the season. Hyde is the kind of person who does well in pretty much any sport he participates in, he's a natural talent; he doesn't get that from me. We were hoping that he'd do well because that'd motivate him to also do well in his academics, participate in Cross Country next season (thereby sparing us the discussion about WHY he can't do football that we seem to have every year), and maybe even improve his attitude at home. Really people, the male teenage brain is so inscrutable to me, I can't even begin to explain how I feel on a daily basis. The only thing that comes to mind is living in a war zone, somewhere car bombs and other random explosions happen. You have to keep on living and always in the back of your head there's the knowledge that something awful may happen, any minute. I love my son but sometimes I don't really know WHY I do... am I a masochist? mentally ill? Anyone who thinks the toddler years are difficult, hasn't parented a teenager yet... that's all I'm sayin'.
And it's because of the track meet schedule that I'm probably going to miss a fun night out with other PDX blogging mammas, which is a HUGE bummer. Just slap that big "L" on my forehead now.
***
speaking of which, I had a glorious Lucy moment yesterday. I was trying to load the dishwasher while paying close attention to El Niño, who was due for a potty run any minute but kept saying no every time I asked. Once I realized it was time, I dashed towards him but the hardware mounted gate between us didn't swing open like I expected it to... I wound up eating it on the floor, tangled up in the gate, watching in horror as my bottom-half-naked toddler peed a gallon and a half onto the carpet. I have a lovely gash across my abdomen to show for it too.
Other than that, potty training is going really well! He even napped on my bed naked the other day, and managed to stay dry for the duration (two hours).
Monday, May 01, 2006
reason #16545 why I love Oregon
These are pictures I took at Crater Lake when Mo and I went, a month before our wedding. I had described it to him as a superb place for smooching. It is definitely a place worth visiting with someone you love, and I highly recommend watching the sunset there (the late August sun provides the most spectacular light & color display against the rock walls). Happy Monday!
Friday, April 28, 2006
randomly yours
I need to post, if only to establish the habit of posting regularly and more than once a week. Also because I'm slowly acquiring "friends in the computer" (I'm borrowing this term from BMC who borrowed it from someone else...) thanks to this blog, and I don't want to be lame and throw out bombshells about people running away and then not come back and say that all is sorta well.
See, Hyde got very sick on Sunday night, so sick he had to miss two days of school and then came home on Wednesday running a fever again. At times like these, I guess it's nice to be home with a mom and dad who take care of everything. Right? So, there's been a bit of an attitude improvement. Parenting class was great on Sunday morning too. I felt my feelings and experiences very validated. One of the teachers had emailed this essay to me the night before, when she found out what had happenend with Hyde during the week, and reading it was quite eye-opening for me as far as helping me understand how I've been relating to most of the main players in my life.
Potty-training is going much better in the last few days, it seems El Niño is finally getting the hang of holding pee in a little and saying "potty" when he feels like it's time to not hold it in anymore. We had no accidents yesterday, even though he went naked-butt all day while he was awake (he wore a cloth diaper during his nap, which was soaking wet by the time he woke up) and I was battling the worst migraine I've had in months. He *is* dealing with a bad case of diaper rash, his first since I binged on chocolate a year ago and we found out the hard way that he's allergic to it, because he refused to let us change his cloth diaper a few times earlier this week and apparently that's all it took to mess up his delicate skin big time.
While I was discussing with Mo yesterday what kind of diaper rash cream I wanted him to buy (we've never used any because we've never had to... I double-dare you to ask me why I feel that routine use of diaper rash cream is unnecessary), I told him that I'm not *really* crunchy, more like yoghurt-covered-granola crunchy. And it made him laugh. I love it when I can make him laugh. And also when I can come up with a way to describe myself that doesn't make me feel uncomfortable, doesn't pigeon-hole me into some category that I don't really belong in (I'm apparently not the only one with this issue). Before El Niño was born, I'd never heard of Attachment Parenting, lactivism, family beds, or "crunchy" as an adjective for people. I'd cut out MSG and artificial ingredients from my diet for health, not moral or political reasons. I recycled and tried to generate as little garbage as possible out of a sense of responsibility towards nature. Whenever I could afford to, I bought organic products, and I guess that was a little political-moral-ethically motivated. But I think my Natural Family Planning, organic farming, non-vaxing cousin and her family are crunchy... not us. Ummmm, I mean seriously, we shop at Costco, Target and Big Lots. We can't afford to shop regularly at Whole Foods or New Seasons. So, in my migraine-induced delirium, I came up with yoghurt-covered granola. It fits me, us, our life. My favorite breakfast is a layer of fresh fruit covered by a layer of yoghurt, with a layer of granola and some honey drizzled over it. If you've never had this combo, you are missing out on some edible perfection!
Speaking of granola, is this a good time to talk about baby carriers? Because I've found myself obsessively thinking about them lately... I received word-by-email that my silk & velveteen Kozy is almost finished, and I nearly peed my pants with glee. When I post a picture of the finished product, I'm sure it'll be obvious what the BFD is and why I'm so excited. However, I'm also in the market for a lighter, Summer-friendly carrier (I'm sure the velveteen will not be my best friend when it gets really hot here). So, we're considering getting ourselves this gauze wrap from Gypsy Mama:
You may not be able to tell from the pictures that this hand-batiked-in-Bali wrap has a gorgeous print of TURTLES along the borders, and a mermaid holding a baby in the center. PeRRRfect! By the way, Mo is such an awesome, supportive husband that he helped me pick out this wrap (he happens to be a sucker for turtles too). I have to sell the Gracosaur to fund it, tho.
The other carrier that keeps appearing in my dreams these days is from Didymos, a German company that just rocks my world for their commitment to fair trade, the environment and offering their customers a guilt-free, beautiful product. I encourage you to visit their site and read up on their corporate philosophy.
This is called Purple Waves and contains all my favorite colors in the world. I would gladly be mummiffied in this wrap. *sigh* I can dream. And, trust me, I do.
Happy Friday!
See, Hyde got very sick on Sunday night, so sick he had to miss two days of school and then came home on Wednesday running a fever again. At times like these, I guess it's nice to be home with a mom and dad who take care of everything. Right? So, there's been a bit of an attitude improvement. Parenting class was great on Sunday morning too. I felt my feelings and experiences very validated. One of the teachers had emailed this essay to me the night before, when she found out what had happenend with Hyde during the week, and reading it was quite eye-opening for me as far as helping me understand how I've been relating to most of the main players in my life.
Potty-training is going much better in the last few days, it seems El Niño is finally getting the hang of holding pee in a little and saying "potty" when he feels like it's time to not hold it in anymore. We had no accidents yesterday, even though he went naked-butt all day while he was awake (he wore a cloth diaper during his nap, which was soaking wet by the time he woke up) and I was battling the worst migraine I've had in months. He *is* dealing with a bad case of diaper rash, his first since I binged on chocolate a year ago and we found out the hard way that he's allergic to it, because he refused to let us change his cloth diaper a few times earlier this week and apparently that's all it took to mess up his delicate skin big time.
While I was discussing with Mo yesterday what kind of diaper rash cream I wanted him to buy (we've never used any because we've never had to... I double-dare you to ask me why I feel that routine use of diaper rash cream is unnecessary), I told him that I'm not *really* crunchy, more like yoghurt-covered-granola crunchy. And it made him laugh. I love it when I can make him laugh. And also when I can come up with a way to describe myself that doesn't make me feel uncomfortable, doesn't pigeon-hole me into some category that I don't really belong in (I'm apparently not the only one with this issue). Before El Niño was born, I'd never heard of Attachment Parenting, lactivism, family beds, or "crunchy" as an adjective for people. I'd cut out MSG and artificial ingredients from my diet for health, not moral or political reasons. I recycled and tried to generate as little garbage as possible out of a sense of responsibility towards nature. Whenever I could afford to, I bought organic products, and I guess that was a little political-moral-ethically motivated. But I think my Natural Family Planning, organic farming, non-vaxing cousin and her family are crunchy... not us. Ummmm, I mean seriously, we shop at Costco, Target and Big Lots. We can't afford to shop regularly at Whole Foods or New Seasons. So, in my migraine-induced delirium, I came up with yoghurt-covered granola. It fits me, us, our life. My favorite breakfast is a layer of fresh fruit covered by a layer of yoghurt, with a layer of granola and some honey drizzled over it. If you've never had this combo, you are missing out on some edible perfection!
Speaking of granola, is this a good time to talk about baby carriers? Because I've found myself obsessively thinking about them lately... I received word-by-email that my silk & velveteen Kozy is almost finished, and I nearly peed my pants with glee. When I post a picture of the finished product, I'm sure it'll be obvious what the BFD is and why I'm so excited. However, I'm also in the market for a lighter, Summer-friendly carrier (I'm sure the velveteen will not be my best friend when it gets really hot here). So, we're considering getting ourselves this gauze wrap from Gypsy Mama:
You may not be able to tell from the pictures that this hand-batiked-in-Bali wrap has a gorgeous print of TURTLES along the borders, and a mermaid holding a baby in the center. PeRRRfect! By the way, Mo is such an awesome, supportive husband that he helped me pick out this wrap (he happens to be a sucker for turtles too). I have to sell the Gracosaur to fund it, tho.The other carrier that keeps appearing in my dreams these days is from Didymos, a German company that just rocks my world for their commitment to fair trade, the environment and offering their customers a guilt-free, beautiful product. I encourage you to visit their site and read up on their corporate philosophy.
This is called Purple Waves and contains all my favorite colors in the world. I would gladly be mummiffied in this wrap. *sigh* I can dream. And, trust me, I do.Happy Friday!
Saturday, April 22, 2006
"bless me, Blogosphere, for I have sinned!"
"... it's been over a week since my last confession."
(if this doesn't give you an idea of how bad a Catholic I was growing up, nothing will)
So anyway, it's been pretty rough around here lately and I haven't been in the mood to share. Really, my MOOD was definitely not something anyone'd want to be sharing with me.
What's going on, you ask?
Well, I'm helping one of my dearest friends get ready to move out of the home she lovingly renovated with her husband a few years ago, because the fucktard woke up on his 40th birthday and announced he wanted a divorce. The kids are reeling, she's devastated and he's got a twinkie on the side that only a few of us know about. It sucks. I don't understand how this can really be happening to them. Other people, sure. But not this family. Mo's 40th birthday's coming up in a few months... he can go live out his midlife crisis in Alaska fishing for crab (this is something he wants to do), as long as he doesn't mess with our marriage. Otherwise, he'll be crab-bait.
Potty training El Niño was going pretty well until we got him into training pants. He'd been pooping in the toilet for over a month, letting us know several times a day when he had to go pee by saying "potty" while making the sign for potty, and had become fascinated with a book about Ernie (of Sesame Street fame) called Too Big for Diapers. These all seemed like readyness signs to *me* and I thought if we didn't get him into training pants, we'd be holding him back. Plus, it was a real pain to be running back and forth to the bathroom and stripping him of Onesies and diapers and whatever other layers of clothing he had on. I thought it'd be awesome to get him trained before I go back to work (which I really need to do soon because we're steps away from the poorhouse at this point). Well, now he doesn't want to go to the potty at all, except when he has to poo, which means that my laundry pile has EXPLODED. I will only use disposable training pants when we're out of the house, and we're usually home all day... so this means we go through a lot of training pants, cloth diapers and regular pants. In the last couple of days, he's decided he wants to run around the apartment wearing nothing at all, which means that I really, really have to watch him or he'll pee on the carpet without warning (with a look of wonderment as he does so). Oh, and his "awareness" of his bodily functions also appears to be messing with his ability to sleep, at night and at naptime. See where I'm going with this? I am one tired, cranky mutha.
On top of this, Hyde decided to walk out of school in the middle of the day a couple of days ago... intending to once again run away. He broke into our church and spent the night there, while we once again spent the night worried about where he was and if he was safe. The male teenage brain seems to me to be a minefield of anger and confusion, and I really don't know how to deal with it. He's home now, and I'm praying we can come to a negotiated peace of some sort, before I lose my mind.
***
Some commenters to my meme post seemed to be very impressed that I taught myself English when I was four years old, Dutch even called me a "badass". Which is funny, because the only time I really thought of myself as a badass was the time I installed a million-dollar router that weighed twice as much as I did. Teaching myself to read English has always seemed like an oddity. As a little girl, I didn't realize that English wasn't a phonetic language and was very confused when I came to the States and people started speaking to me. What I've been a little curious about is what my parents were thinking, leaving me in the care of my uncle... and what he was thinking taking me to the UN when I was seven years old. But that's material for another post.
Finally, some sweet things have happened. El Niño has a few new words: hello, morning, yo-yo, hat, Whoo-Oo for his beloved, and newt (for nose, it's a hybrid of the Spanish and English words). I also caught him yesterday trying to get his nipple up to his lips; perhaps he's hoping to nurse himself? LOL! The happiest news is that we may finally have a breakthrough in our attempts to partially wean: he seems to really like Oat milk.
(if this doesn't give you an idea of how bad a Catholic I was growing up, nothing will)
So anyway, it's been pretty rough around here lately and I haven't been in the mood to share. Really, my MOOD was definitely not something anyone'd want to be sharing with me.
What's going on, you ask?
Well, I'm helping one of my dearest friends get ready to move out of the home she lovingly renovated with her husband a few years ago, because the fucktard woke up on his 40th birthday and announced he wanted a divorce. The kids are reeling, she's devastated and he's got a twinkie on the side that only a few of us know about. It sucks. I don't understand how this can really be happening to them. Other people, sure. But not this family. Mo's 40th birthday's coming up in a few months... he can go live out his midlife crisis in Alaska fishing for crab (this is something he wants to do), as long as he doesn't mess with our marriage. Otherwise, he'll be crab-bait.
Potty training El Niño was going pretty well until we got him into training pants. He'd been pooping in the toilet for over a month, letting us know several times a day when he had to go pee by saying "potty" while making the sign for potty, and had become fascinated with a book about Ernie (of Sesame Street fame) called Too Big for Diapers. These all seemed like readyness signs to *me* and I thought if we didn't get him into training pants, we'd be holding him back. Plus, it was a real pain to be running back and forth to the bathroom and stripping him of Onesies and diapers and whatever other layers of clothing he had on. I thought it'd be awesome to get him trained before I go back to work (which I really need to do soon because we're steps away from the poorhouse at this point). Well, now he doesn't want to go to the potty at all, except when he has to poo, which means that my laundry pile has EXPLODED. I will only use disposable training pants when we're out of the house, and we're usually home all day... so this means we go through a lot of training pants, cloth diapers and regular pants. In the last couple of days, he's decided he wants to run around the apartment wearing nothing at all, which means that I really, really have to watch him or he'll pee on the carpet without warning (with a look of wonderment as he does so). Oh, and his "awareness" of his bodily functions also appears to be messing with his ability to sleep, at night and at naptime. See where I'm going with this? I am one tired, cranky mutha.
On top of this, Hyde decided to walk out of school in the middle of the day a couple of days ago... intending to once again run away. He broke into our church and spent the night there, while we once again spent the night worried about where he was and if he was safe. The male teenage brain seems to me to be a minefield of anger and confusion, and I really don't know how to deal with it. He's home now, and I'm praying we can come to a negotiated peace of some sort, before I lose my mind.
***
Some commenters to my meme post seemed to be very impressed that I taught myself English when I was four years old, Dutch even called me a "badass". Which is funny, because the only time I really thought of myself as a badass was the time I installed a million-dollar router that weighed twice as much as I did. Teaching myself to read English has always seemed like an oddity. As a little girl, I didn't realize that English wasn't a phonetic language and was very confused when I came to the States and people started speaking to me. What I've been a little curious about is what my parents were thinking, leaving me in the care of my uncle... and what he was thinking taking me to the UN when I was seven years old. But that's material for another post.
Finally, some sweet things have happened. El Niño has a few new words: hello, morning, yo-yo, hat, Whoo-Oo for his beloved, and newt (for nose, it's a hybrid of the Spanish and English words). I also caught him yesterday trying to get his nipple up to his lips; perhaps he's hoping to nurse himself? LOL! The happiest news is that we may finally have a breakthrough in our attempts to partially wean: he seems to really like Oat milk.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Six things?
hmmmm, we've been tagged by HeatherJ at Life in MamaLand (go check her out). Our first meme! Apparently I'm supposed to share six weird facts/things/habits about myself, and I told Mo he has to do it too (since she tagged the blog, not me specifically... see what a PITA I am?). This gives me a good excuse to post, since I've been procrastinating because I've got several topics I've been working on inside my messy-hazy brain.
Mom Dukes
Mommymatic
Sweet Chaos in the Haight
PBFish
Mama without instructions
Urf!
RULES
1. Reveal six weird facts/things/habits about yourself and then tag six other people
2. Leave some sort of "Tag... you're it!" comment to let the people you have tagged know they have to reveal six things or the entire blogosphere will explode and it will be their fault
3. Leave *me* a comment letting me know that you have complied with this request.
Gracias ;-)
- I don't know how to ride a bike, never learned. What can I say, I seriously had no childhood. Heather, feel free to come and teach me. Mo promised he would, but we've been married almost three years and so far, nada.
- I taught myself English when I was four years old because I wanted to read my dad's collection of super-hero comic books. (my first language is Spanish; I was reading & writing and started 1st grade when I was 4yo)
- When I was a little girl, my uncle used to take me to the UN to listen to the debates going on there. I'd sit in the visitors' gallery in the dark, with the headphones on and flipping through the simultaneous-translation channels, fascinated at the amount of languages available for me to listen to & learn. I really thought someday I would learn to speak most of the world's languages.
- I didn't inherit whatever "girl" gene it is that makes lots of females capable of doing cool things with their hair, put on makeup, decorate their homes, sew, knit, etc. I feel strangely alien when I go to a place like JoAnn's, and like a kid in a candy store when I go to Home Depot. While I really want to learn how to sew and crochet someday soon, what I really, really, really want is to learn how to make beautiful wood furniture and wrought iron pieces.
- Even though I'm obsessive about healthy eating, and the food I buy and prepare at home is free from MSG, artificial flavors or colors... I've got a terrible weakness for some types of junk food. The six-dollar burger from Carl's Jr., french fries, fried chicken from the Haggen deli, and dark chocolate Mounds candy bars are my kryptonite. I will not classify pizza as a "bad" food, because I love pizzas loaded with veggies and made with lowfat cheese.
- I went to college for four and a half years but have no degree to show for it. I couldn't make up my mind as to what I wanted to be when I grew up, and then had to quit due to an unplanned pregnancy (Mr. Hyde). The worst part is that, at 37 years old, I still don't know what I would study if I'm lucky enough to go back to school. I have a good mind for the law (which is what my family were all pushing me to do for years), I'm fascinated by linguistics, and my personality and interests would seem to steer me towards the field of anthropology.
Mom Dukes
Mommymatic
Sweet Chaos in the Haight
PBFish
Mama without instructions
Urf!
RULES
1. Reveal six weird facts/things/habits about yourself and then tag six other people
2. Leave some sort of "Tag... you're it!" comment to let the people you have tagged know they have to reveal six things or the entire blogosphere will explode and it will be their fault
3. Leave *me* a comment letting me know that you have complied with this request.
Gracias ;-)
Saturday, April 08, 2006
rambling
Mo is truly the best... he baked muffins for breakfast this morning, for the first time in his life. (they were really, REALLY yum!) Now, he's just asked me if I want him to save the bones he cut out of the pork steaks we bought for tonight's dinner. He's planning on cooking up another one of his wonderful surprises.
Saturdays are my day "off", the day he takes over all the household and parental duties. All I have to do is breastfeed. He used to just cook simple meals, because he's never been into food or cooking, like I am. And I had no complaints: he makes excellent burritos, steak and potatoes, etc. No one was feeling deprived around here. But over the last couple of months, he's gotten positively inspired on Saturdays, and I've been regaled with some delicious, unexpectedly complex meals.
I liiiiiiiiike it!
***
I just caught this story about starving elk on the news. It's awful.
I don't understand why we humans are capable of so much beauty, art, music, and incredible feats of engineering but we don't seem to be able to balance the needs of the human and animal populations of this Earth. We have to find ways to do it, we HAVE to. I'm sickened by images of starving people all over the world, and I'm sickened by these images of beautiful animals, dying because they're starving in a nature "preserve".
Saturdays are my day "off", the day he takes over all the household and parental duties. All I have to do is breastfeed. He used to just cook simple meals, because he's never been into food or cooking, like I am. And I had no complaints: he makes excellent burritos, steak and potatoes, etc. No one was feeling deprived around here. But over the last couple of months, he's gotten positively inspired on Saturdays, and I've been regaled with some delicious, unexpectedly complex meals.
I liiiiiiiiike it!
***
I just caught this story about starving elk on the news. It's awful.
I don't understand why we humans are capable of so much beauty, art, music, and incredible feats of engineering but we don't seem to be able to balance the needs of the human and animal populations of this Earth. We have to find ways to do it, we HAVE to. I'm sickened by images of starving people all over the world, and I'm sickened by these images of beautiful animals, dying because they're starving in a nature "preserve".
setting boundaries
Sometimes it seems to me that most people's problems arise out of a lack of healthy boundaries. God knows most of MY problems have come about because of this. My family is so freaking dysfunctional, Mo's shocked I didn't grow up to be a serial-killer. That bad. I don't even talk to my mother anymore. My stomach knots up at the thought of it.
Ever since El Niño was born, I've worked hard at living drama-free. Because for the longest time, my life resembled a freaking soap opera. I was a classic codependent, and that just wasn't cutting it for me, my husband or my kids. Part of being a good parent is teaching children about healthy boundaries. Your body belongs to you and no one else. Adults don't need to ask *children* for help, they should ask another adult. When someone wants to fight, the best course of action is to walk away... unless they've got you pinned down or cornered, then you fight like hell to break free and get away as fast as you can. Blahblahblah.
Last night, Mo and I were trying to convey some more boundaries to Mr. Hyde. He's 14yo, which can be an age of life-altering, hormone-driven choices, and his ADHD further predisposes him to shitty judgement and boundary-setting. So we tried to address the issue of his current "job" with one of our neighbors, and it pretty much blew up in our faces.
The neighbor in question is a woman who is in her mid-forties, and on medical disability. She is morbidly obese, diabetic, depressed, has IBS and rheumatoid arthritis. She also used to attend our church but left because she didn't feel anyone "cared" about her... When we moved into our apartment a few months ago, she asked my son if he would take out her garbage nightly, and she would pay him. I thought about asking him to do it for her as a service thing (I don't want to use the word charity) but, I had a bad feeling it wouldn't stop at taking out her garbage, and I decided to try to stay out of it. Notice I said "she asked my son". She asked him first, not me. First strike. But, I really try to be nice and take a whole WWJD approach to others. The problem is, it usually backfires. One night, she wasn't there when Hyde went over. Ok, whatever. She came knocking at 10 o'clock, to ask if he'd come and unload her car for her, then throw out the garbage. Uhhhh, WTF?!?!? Her able-bodied-college-student daughter was with her, and she needs my son to unload her car? at ten-fucking-o'clock, when we're all getting ready for bed? I took a deep breath, and let it go. Then she showed up at our door one day, as Mo and I were getting ready to head out, to ask if we could lend her money to pay for her prescription meds. We lent it to her because we happened to have some and she'd been calling me all week, crying on the phone, telling me how the Social Security people were messing up her disability claim, the county clinic was messing up her prescriptions, yaddayaddayadda. (I know, I'm starting to sound like a heartless bitch, aren't I? let's just say I've been thru this before, with other people, and it *never* ends well) Then she called the other day, wanting Hyde to go with her to the supermarket to "help" her. This, at dinnertime. Finally, on Tuesday, Mo and I came home to find a trash bag at our doorstep. No note, nothing. Inside the bag, dirty. cat. litter. We suspected where it'd come from, and I really had to pray to keep my cool. Last night, Hyde confirmed our suspicions, so I asked him if he thought that was ok or if it was a rude overstepping of boundaries. He thought it was ok because she's paying him to take out her garbage. Mo and I tried to explain to him that just because she's paying him, it doesn't mean he's indentured to her (or we are), and he needs to set boundaries. He got upset, and then apparently said something to her that made her upset... so then she called while I was putting the baby down for the night. I didn't hear about it until this morning, which is a good thing. I'm still trying to figure out how I want to handle it. Mo doesn't want to talk to her at all.
I told Cookie when we met that I'm pretty antisocial, and I don't think she was thoroughly convinced. Maybe she'll read this and understand why. Although, right now she's pulling a disappearing act, which is what I'd love to be doing too... but I've gotta roll up my sleeves & do some setting of boundaries first.
[Update 4/9: I obviously attract the criminally insane. This woman left a letter taped to my door in which she accused me of being immature, ungrateful and a bad Christian, among other things. The old me would've ripped her a new one... but the new me wrote her a polite letter back in which I nicely told her to piss off, and to stay away from me and mine. This is why I avoid people. I have plenty of good, low-maintenance friends, why risk the drama with new people?]
Ever since El Niño was born, I've worked hard at living drama-free. Because for the longest time, my life resembled a freaking soap opera. I was a classic codependent, and that just wasn't cutting it for me, my husband or my kids. Part of being a good parent is teaching children about healthy boundaries. Your body belongs to you and no one else. Adults don't need to ask *children* for help, they should ask another adult. When someone wants to fight, the best course of action is to walk away... unless they've got you pinned down or cornered, then you fight like hell to break free and get away as fast as you can. Blahblahblah.
Last night, Mo and I were trying to convey some more boundaries to Mr. Hyde. He's 14yo, which can be an age of life-altering, hormone-driven choices, and his ADHD further predisposes him to shitty judgement and boundary-setting. So we tried to address the issue of his current "job" with one of our neighbors, and it pretty much blew up in our faces.
The neighbor in question is a woman who is in her mid-forties, and on medical disability. She is morbidly obese, diabetic, depressed, has IBS and rheumatoid arthritis. She also used to attend our church but left because she didn't feel anyone "cared" about her... When we moved into our apartment a few months ago, she asked my son if he would take out her garbage nightly, and she would pay him. I thought about asking him to do it for her as a service thing (I don't want to use the word charity) but, I had a bad feeling it wouldn't stop at taking out her garbage, and I decided to try to stay out of it. Notice I said "she asked my son". She asked him first, not me. First strike. But, I really try to be nice and take a whole WWJD approach to others. The problem is, it usually backfires. One night, she wasn't there when Hyde went over. Ok, whatever. She came knocking at 10 o'clock, to ask if he'd come and unload her car for her, then throw out the garbage. Uhhhh, WTF?!?!? Her able-bodied-college-student daughter was with her, and she needs my son to unload her car? at ten-fucking-o'clock, when we're all getting ready for bed? I took a deep breath, and let it go. Then she showed up at our door one day, as Mo and I were getting ready to head out, to ask if we could lend her money to pay for her prescription meds. We lent it to her because we happened to have some and she'd been calling me all week, crying on the phone, telling me how the Social Security people were messing up her disability claim, the county clinic was messing up her prescriptions, yaddayaddayadda. (I know, I'm starting to sound like a heartless bitch, aren't I? let's just say I've been thru this before, with other people, and it *never* ends well) Then she called the other day, wanting Hyde to go with her to the supermarket to "help" her. This, at dinnertime. Finally, on Tuesday, Mo and I came home to find a trash bag at our doorstep. No note, nothing. Inside the bag, dirty. cat. litter. We suspected where it'd come from, and I really had to pray to keep my cool. Last night, Hyde confirmed our suspicions, so I asked him if he thought that was ok or if it was a rude overstepping of boundaries. He thought it was ok because she's paying him to take out her garbage. Mo and I tried to explain to him that just because she's paying him, it doesn't mean he's indentured to her (or we are), and he needs to set boundaries. He got upset, and then apparently said something to her that made her upset... so then she called while I was putting the baby down for the night. I didn't hear about it until this morning, which is a good thing. I'm still trying to figure out how I want to handle it. Mo doesn't want to talk to her at all.
I told Cookie when we met that I'm pretty antisocial, and I don't think she was thoroughly convinced. Maybe she'll read this and understand why. Although, right now she's pulling a disappearing act, which is what I'd love to be doing too... but I've gotta roll up my sleeves & do some setting of boundaries first.
[Update 4/9: I obviously attract the criminally insane. This woman left a letter taped to my door in which she accused me of being immature, ungrateful and a bad Christian, among other things. The old me would've ripped her a new one... but the new me wrote her a polite letter back in which I nicely told her to piss off, and to stay away from me and mine. This is why I avoid people. I have plenty of good, low-maintenance friends, why risk the drama with new people?]
ask and you will receive
Lesson learned.
Yesterday I was whining about El Niño not eating. Well, things have improved dramatically since I wrote that. All of a sudden, he decided to eat all the cereal in his snack trap, and half a pear, and half an Odwalla bar. I was so happy, I figured that was his dinner. But no, he devoured spaghetti with meat sauce at dinnertime and impatiently grunted at me when it was all gone, because I was such a spaz I didn't realize he'd want some of the broccoli on my plate too! I'm happy to record for posterity that we seem to be over the hump and he's back to his normal eating habits. He's even sipped some more of the yoghurt milk in his straw cup, so there is hope for some gentle, partial weaning to occur.
***
Having learned my lesson above, I guess I should now complain about the fact that my beloved Mo is currently working a job that uses less than 3% of his brain capacity and pays two-thirds what he was making at his previous job, the one he got laid off from. My husband is brilliant, hard-working and an organizational wonder. I wish the currently SUCKY Portland job market would cough up a job for him that was challenging and offered better compensation. He's looked and looked, sent his resume out so many times... Please. He deserves better.
And don't get me started on my car. Mo's got it as MacGyver'd as his mechanical skills have allowed, and it's running sorta ok. But it seriously needs some professional mojo, which we currently can't afford (that's where good job compensation comes in handy).
I should probably quit now before I spill all my gripes.
Yesterday I was whining about El Niño not eating. Well, things have improved dramatically since I wrote that. All of a sudden, he decided to eat all the cereal in his snack trap, and half a pear, and half an Odwalla bar. I was so happy, I figured that was his dinner. But no, he devoured spaghetti with meat sauce at dinnertime and impatiently grunted at me when it was all gone, because I was such a spaz I didn't realize he'd want some of the broccoli on my plate too! I'm happy to record for posterity that we seem to be over the hump and he's back to his normal eating habits. He's even sipped some more of the yoghurt milk in his straw cup, so there is hope for some gentle, partial weaning to occur.
***
Having learned my lesson above, I guess I should now complain about the fact that my beloved Mo is currently working a job that uses less than 3% of his brain capacity and pays two-thirds what he was making at his previous job, the one he got laid off from. My husband is brilliant, hard-working and an organizational wonder. I wish the currently SUCKY Portland job market would cough up a job for him that was challenging and offered better compensation. He's looked and looked, sent his resume out so many times... Please. He deserves better.
And don't get me started on my car. Mo's got it as MacGyver'd as his mechanical skills have allowed, and it's running sorta ok. But it seriously needs some professional mojo, which we currently can't afford (that's where good job compensation comes in handy).
I should probably quit now before I spill all my gripes.
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