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“Red Barn Theatre presents, ‘Basket Full of Puppets’” It’s in the paper, so it must be legit, or so I thought. The Red Barn was not in fact a barn but a red run down house on the wrong side of town. Granted, the side I live on but a little further down. I circled the block just to make sure but really I need to get up the courage to walk into the dump. When you tell spirited toddler to look forward to something, he does, so you can’t disappoint or you’ll regret it. He was ready to see puppets and I was hoping my car wouldn’t get stolen. In front there was a homeless looking woman shuffling papers in her car. Her car was so packed with trash that literally there was a small hole she looked out of to drive. Trash was all the way up to the ceiling. Once I saw this “Dateline” special about a woman who lived in such filth that the community was trying to kick her out but she’s actually a lawyer so she spent all her time finding loopholes just to piss off the mean neighbors. Anyway, I swear it was the same woman. We go inside and I’m even more scared. After paying our $3.00, we sit right in front. A father and her daughter come in shortly but they look just as homeless. My anticipation builds because I know something outrageous will happen next. It did. The homeless packed car lady got behind a curtain and out pops a “puppet” Obviously, she got a little crazy with a balloon and paper mache. The puppet looked like an angry Russian guy with a mustache falling off. The puppet proceeded to tell us that he was available for weddings and bar mitzvahs. Damn, why didn’t I think about having a puppet show at my wedding? Ok, at first I laughed but the poor lady was serious. She must have been because she repeated it three times. Well she didn’t, but the puppet did. After he told us where the bathrooms were, the puppeteer goes in front of the curtain with a dishtowel-covered basket. I assumed it was the “Basket Full Of Puppets” It was and out came the first puppet. Ok, this is where it gets good. The puppet was actually a tube sock with googley eyes glued on the top. To my horror and delight, spirited toddler starts asking,” Where’s the puppets?” I couldn’t help but laugh every time. The puppeteer was getting annoyed so she started getting louder to drown out his question. The next puppet was a work glove. Granted the glove had five orange pompons on the fingertips but it was no puppet. At that moment, I started looking around for the hidden camera crew. They obviously were professionals because I couldn’t see them. “Where are the puppets?” I try to tell him again that they’re right in front of his face but he wasn’t buying it either so he gives up, looks at me, and wants to play our smell-my-feet-and-act-like-they-stink game so I swooped him up and headed home. Spirited toddler once again asks, “Where’s the puppet show?” As I start the car, he gets excited thinking we were on our way to the puppet show.
Today I woke up feeling regretful. Last night I raised my voice to a non-sleeping two year old. I’m not sure which one of us was more exhausted. He had never seen his mom angry before so it caught him off guard. The problem is this morning; I still have his fearful face etched into my memory. Thank goodness he loves me enough to forgive but I’m trying to forgive myself. Constant apologizing and hugging wasn’t letting my conscience free so I sat on the couch and wrote. I wanted to call cute hubby so he could reassure me about being a great mother but he was not available. I realized over the past two weeks just how much praise I get from him. I’ve missed that. When I’m feeling overwhelmed, I rely on him to tap my shoulder while I sit out for a bit. When a normal person goes to work, you have a paycheck put in your hand thanking you for working so hard. As a mother, I find this to be the hard part. Watching my newly potty-trained toddler poop in the potty again just doesn’t hold the same excitement it did the first time. I’m proud of him and proud of myself but no one sees my hard work when I’m alone. Cute hubby is my positive reinforcement during challenges. He sees me work hard everyday so when he’s not here, I really feel frustrated and unappreciated. After writing, I closed my journal and wondered if he’d received the care package I sent. Like a kid off to summer camp, I put together a package full of fun. It should be arriving today and I know he’ll appreciate all it’s contents. The doorbell rang. The nice old man stood there with a clipboard and flowers. I smelled them, read the card and cried. It was his way of telling me to be gentle with myself and that he loves me.
My neck is not happy with me. I’ve cut the hair that’s kept it hidden. It’s become vulnerable from exposure but I’ve enjoyed feeling eyes glance at it. My hair is not happy either. It wants to be entangled between fingers pulling it back just enough for my eyes to catch a glimpse of a determined face. I feel my skin’s angry cries, needing lips to press against it. I hear the screaming of my thighs in hopes I’d find hands to separate them. My lips below are aching, wanting a tongue to lick them raw. My hard nipples won’t release. Trying to edge their way towards teeth and hands willing to bite and twist them. I’ve tried calming the fury but sense the fire inside growing.
Yesterday I had the privilege of taking a two year old to the circus. Seeing your own child experience the circus for the first time is the most amazing thing. I’d watch every delighted expression and listen closely to questions while he tried to comprehend the scene. At first, our seats disappointed me but the minute 12 elephants walked in, holding each other’s tails, I was thankful. I couldn’t help but seek out an emergency exit with my eyes just in case we needed a quick get away. I had this picture in my head thanks to too much TV where an entire family gets trampled by an angry elephant. My job as a parent was making sure it wouldn’t be us. I wondered whether or not elephants could walk up the bleachers. Thankfully, I didn’t find out. Spirited toddler had his first taste of cotton candy. When he gagged, I wondered, “Whose kid are you?” After intermission, these men in body suits tried to impress us all by walking the tight rope. I kept thinking, “don’t expect me to feel sorry for you when you fall because anyone stupid enough to do that deserve it.” Without nets or oversized pillows of air, I feared explaining the dead body to a two year old. Before the performance, you were invited to go below and meet the jugglers and clowns, who I usually fear. Spirited toddler waved at one so he came right over. I started to cringe but after awhile, I have to admit, I was enjoying them. I must have been on the verge of a heat stroke. Pickles the clown took a liking to us, showering our heads with confetti. It was the age-old trick where you think he’s going to throw a bucket of water on you but to his delight, it’s confetti. “Where are the motorcycles” was the big question I was asked every five minutes. Call me crazy but I just don’t get the three men driving around in that huge metal sphere, testosterone oozing from the frame. Of course, to every parents delight, the best part of the show was when the huge vacuum cleaners came out to clean up the mess.
Even though I sound dramatic about being alone for a few weeks, I’m really a big faker. Of course, this does not apply in the bedroom. Faking it is pointless but that’s a whole other blog. This week has been fabulous because I’ve got a wife. When she’s not my wife, she’s my mom but for this week, she’s my wife. Every time I hear rumbling in my belly, I act helpless and starving. Within minutes, I have a meal in front of me. Not a perfect meal because it usually involves vegetables but those are easy to shove to the side. She hates that but I just ignore her. After I’m done eating, she says, “You just relax while I do the dishes.” This is my cue to head to the couch for some serious TV watching. After I showered this morning, I went to pick my towel up off the floor and before I knew it, my wife had it hung up to dry. She’s so thoughtful. She apparently loves being my wife because she’s always smiling and singing and asking what else she can do for me. I can’t believe I’ve waited so long before getting one of my own. Cute hubby was on the right track by trying to hook one. Wives rock! For all of you without one, I recommend going out tonight to find one. They really make your life easier. Now I have to get dressed. Where are my clothes? Oh ya, they’re all ironed, hanging in my closet. See? She’s divorcing me tomorrow though, which makes me sad but when cute hubby comes home, I’ll just suggest we go to a swingers club. Of course because he has a penis he’ll think it’s a great idea. He’ll be looking for a hot chick but I’ll be looking for a new wife.
Dear Motime Friends,
It’s only been one week on this journey but I feel that the end is near. I thought I was well equipped with a few chick flicks and a five pound bag of peanut M&M’s but due to poor rationing, they were gone within days. All I’m left with now is a chocolate headache and a deeper hatred for Meg Ryan. There’s no one here to make me coffee which has left me questioning my existence. I struggle to get out of bed. Is there really a reason to when coffee does not await? At first, I just stared, wondering why at 6am there was no one around to serve me. I realize now just how alone this world makes me feel. I’ve managed to make a few cups myself but not without tears and frustration. The struggle has made me stronger though; just like the coffee I am now capable of making. Before this journey, I knew my purpose in life, but now I’m not so sure. I walk through the house and there’s no dirty underwear lying on the floor. I haven’t come across one wet towel on my bed either. When I go into the kitchen, it’s like I have to take a moment to control myself. I’m just not used to seeing the bottom of the sink. I have no idea where I am at times. Maybe it’s from lack of food because is there really any point to make a meal for one? I headed to the bathroom in a moment of weakness, needing a Kleenex. As I looked around I thought, “Whose toilet is this?” It was mine. I had no idea they came with lids. Last night, I was thinking about hiding my own keys to lessen the pain. Before heading out the door, I could ask myself, “Honey, where are the keys?” The only problem is I’d have to jump up and down by myself after finding them hanging on the key rack. It’s not just my surroundings that are becoming unfamiliar but also my body. I hardly recognize myself. It’s been days since someone has washed my back with the peppermint soap. I’m too weak to look back there but I’m sure it needs a good scrubbing. I went to put on my lipstick but even that seemed confusing. Whose lips were those? Pale, and dry. They haven’t been kissed in a week. I licked my lips hoping to bring them back to life but I fear it may be too late. I can hardly stand, for my thighs are just too weak. Before, they got nightly workouts as they’d squeeze my lover during hours of passion but now…now they’ve become unlike my own. All I can do it seems is hope and pray that the feeling in my breasts comes back. Because without the love they deserve from cute hubby, I fear the worst may happen, they may start to sag from depression and lack of attention. I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it but I’m not sure if I can go on much longer. If I leave the house, I could be risking it all by seeing a car that’s not littered with Coke cans. Then what would I do? I shouldn't take any more risks. For now, I will stay inside.
I’ve learned a lot about myself this past week. I’m too hard on myself most days but today I stopped enough to breath and respect my surroundings. I can actually say that I’ve enjoyed being alone with my thoughts. Usually, they drive me into sleepless nights but I found them relaxing. I’ve been going to bed before the sun even thinks about waking up. I’ve read and actually had time to savor every word. Take it in. Absorb. Today, while in our Zen garden, (sand box) my toes were squishing the sand beneath and I loved how it felt. Spirited toddler ran naked outside for hours while I held the hose in the air, finger covering the hole, spraying it everywhere. He was screaming, “Look mommy, it’s raining.” I wondered when the last time he actually felt rain. He did today. Completely covered in mud, he runs up and hugs my legs. I squeeze him and try to remember the moment.
I’m waiting patiently for my date. He’ll be calling soon for phone sex. I’m dying for the real thing but I’ll have to settle for a while. It’s only been a few days but I’ve already let myself go. My pants are laying on the bathroom floor which means I’m only in a shirt and underwear. It’s not even the pretty kind but the plain cotton unflattering kind. I have two empty wine coolers on my left and the crust of two slices of pizza to my right. I’m one burp away from becoming Homer Simpson.
On Friday, the exterminator came. I’ve already mentioned my uneasiness with having strangers in the house. This one was no different. Actually, he was really different. When I opened the door, I said, “Are you the exterminator?” I asked because he was dressed very un-extermninatorish, starched shirt and gel. The gel was in his hair, fluffing up the top and spiking out the back. After some small talk, he got down to killing every little thing in the house a bill and I was writing him a check. “Do you have our business card,” he says. He gives me his business card and then seems uneasy. I cover up his shifting of weight with a smile and a thank you but her interjects. “I have another business card if you’re interested.” I’m thinking, sure, another thing for the trash, that’s fine. He hands me a card representing his night job. Yep, you guessed it, a stripper. That explains the gel. At which time, I tried to cover up more uneasiness by talking too much and smiling. I have to admit, I really looked at this card when he left. Now, the men on it are not facing me but the patrons who seem to be having quite a good time. In fact, they seem to be having the time of their lives. Underneath the picture it says, “Birthdays, Bachelor Parties, or Just Anytime!” It looks great on my refrigerator.
It’s only been three hours since dropping cute hubby off at the airport and I find myself already waiting to hear his voice again. Seeing him tell spirited toddler goodbye made me cry. On the way home, we stopped at the park where spirited toddler said, “I miss daddy,” about three times. I told him I did too. Shortly after coming home, I found a card addressed to me. Inside he wrote, “I’ll miss you but isn’t it wonderful we have each other to miss.” I hid a few treats into his luggage as well and knew he would feel just as special finding them. Now I’ve got to figure out how to untangle that balloon. It’s wrapped around the ceiling fan and spirited toddler doesn’t understand why mommy can’t get it for him. The ladder is much too heavy.
As I was brushing my teeth this morning, I swear to you, it shocked me. It’s not the type that you plug in but it does have a battery packed punch. I though, “hum, that can’t be right,” so I tried it again. And again, it gave my tongue a quick zip. It reminded me of my friend Eric. We all lived in apartments in college but Eric lived in a cool apartment that we would gravitate towards. The apartment itself wasn’t spectacular but the fun that occurred in the apartment made Eric cool. On one particular night, we got drunk and played the game Operation. We’d sit around trying to prove to each other we were surgeons. After a few tequila shots, we actually believed we were good surgeons too. As you know, your senses are heightened during the onset of an alcoholic evening so playing a game that pretends to shock you, can really confuse the crap out of you. By the end of the night, I was feeling it. Not just the tequila, but also the “game of skill.” It was shocking the hell out of me. The bad part was when the alcohol would wear off and the depression would kick in. It was like you knew in your heart you were a good surgeon but your hands were failing you. Just when you think you’d get the thighbone, made from a rubber band, you’d get buzzed, and once again, his bulbous nose would wink at you. The crowd would act as if their own lives depended on you, which would leave you devastated when you were unable to perform your duties. You’d want to lift your hands in front of your eyes and scream, “Why? Why!” Eventually, we’d split up into teams hoping to increase our confidence as Doctors. One would try to steady the game board while the others would cheer you on. The game board didn’t actually need steadying but when you’re drunk, it’s like the game was on a merry-go-round. None of us were pre-med so don’t worry. In fact, I’m probably the only one who stopped drinking long enough to graduate. I just brushed my teeth again but this time, it was a little less shocking. Maybe it only works in the morning when I’m sleep deprived. Maybe that’s what I need in the morning, some fresh breath and electrical shock. That may just do the trick.
Because cute hubby won’t be here for Father’s Day, we decided to celebrate tonight. I over do every holiday. Nothing like celebrating half birthdays or anything, although I’ve considered it, but whenever Hallmark tells me to celebrate, I do. For this holiday, I decided to make a cake that looked like a mans shirt, complete with tie. And for special effects, I had it in a shirt box with tissue paper. I think for you to enjoy any artist’s work, you should learn about what went into making the piece so let me begin. Motherhood leaves me no choice but to enjoy the everyday conveniences when it comes to cooking (Please don’t tell my parents who paid way too much money to send me to culinary school) so I bought a cake mix complete with icing. Not just any icing, but a-cheese-whiz-like-can, where you can shoot out the icing with one simple and easy touch. I was intrigued, so I dispensed some icing on my finger for a quick taste. Yep, just like I thought, delicious. “Hum, maybe I should try some more.” You can probably tell what happened next. All the icing made me down right hungry so I wondered if cute hubby would notice a bite taken from his own cake. Surely he would so I did what any smart, well maybe not so smart, person would do. With grace and beauty, I leaned my head back and shot Betty Crockers load right down my throat, and yes, I swallowed. I know, I know, but don’t worry; it’s nothing a treadmill won’t fix, that and a dentist because even this morning, my teeth are stained blue. With every smile, I’m reminded of my moment of disgrace. Luckily, the blinds were shut.
The Virgin Mary came over today. I just can’t figure out how she’s pregnant again without having sex. I guess it’s a true miracle. She was her usual, weird, overprotective self but still fun for me to watch. We chatted before I quickly realized why she was being so friendly. She was in a borrowing mood. Luckily, I was in a giving mood. We acted like we liked each other while the kids played nicely. That lasted for about .08 seconds before the wrestling match started. Spirited toddler started ramming her and saying, “excuse me.” Like any good parent, I’ve taught him how to use his manners. At one point, her toddler, frustrated by my toddler, flashed us a grumpy face. The Virgin Mary yelled, “Take that grumpy face off. You have to have joy in your heart!” I’ve never actually heard that line used as a disciplining tactic before. Spirited toddler was confused why she was screaming. I was confused because she was screaming while smiling. Believe me, she looked happy but I’m pretty sure she didn’t have joy in her heart.
He’s leaving after this week. He’ll be gone for two weeks, which will be the longest we’ve ever been a part. I’m getting anxious already thinking of not having my man around. I’m fucking him like mad these days. In the shower, in the bed, it doesn’t matter. I’m not sure if I’m stocking up or making it so he doesn’t forget his lovely wife when he’s away. Either way, it’s been a fun and exhausting. My love tank is overflowing. Perfect. I don’t like the thought of him being so far away. Hell, even down the street is too far away from me. I want to have him at my fingertips. Anxiety over things just not being in their place I guess. He belongs here, with me. I belong anywhere as long as it’s with him. I’ll shut my eyes tight and run over the burning coals.
Ah, finally alone. I need to take care of business. I start my way in the garage and work through the house. Organize, clean, sanitize. The music is screaming at me while I’m in the kitchen. A few times I fight to not turn it down. Now’s my chance to really listen and not just have it in the background. It’s there but I’ve been ignoring her. Not any longer. I listen to the words. She’s telling me I’ve lost control. She’s telling me I should have thought things through. She’s right. I’m organizing and cleaning and sanitizing again. The entire time, I wonder what I’m really trying to clean, my thoughts, my intentions, and actions perhaps, maybe my past. No, not that. Something is bothering me and I’m not sure what it is. Maybe, I’m choosing to ignore it like the pile of newspapers at the door. If I clean up everything within my vision, won’t it feel better? Yes, that’s what I’m hoping for. Organize, clean, and sanitizing. Big Rubbermaid boxes, all have lids, and labels now thanks to me. I like how the boxes look on the shelves. The door is closed but I still know what’s inside. If someone were to open the door, they’d think I was clutter free. What they don’t see is that in those boxes, I’ve just thrown things in. There’s no organization inside my organization attempts. At least I don’t have to look at it anymore. I can ignore what’s inside if the outside looks good. I look at my hands, focusing on my thumb as it starts to crack open. If I press hard enough, maybe I could get it to bleed. I try to cover up the wounds with lotion and oils. I pass the mirror but dare not look inside. Organize, clean, sanitize. It’s not working.
We started out eating lobster and eavesdropping on the other patrons. The family behind us was mad that their food was taking so long. The waiter kept apologizing but I don’t think he was serious. The mother wanted to “see the manager.” The grandmother asked, “Does anyone have Tylenol?” The kids were crying. Of course, hearing what they seemed to be going through made me a bit anxious about the timeliness of our own food. The table directly across from us was way too complicated to decipher, one couple old, another young. The black woman was trying to tell the white woman why she doesn’t eat carbohydrates. “It’s for my health,” she screamed after numerous attempts at explaining health trends these days. The family on the other side looked like three families, all yelling at the appropriate child that belonged to them. I tried to block them out. Instead, I looked over at cute hubby trying to explain a complicated case he was working on but his words weren’t really sinking in. I was looking through him. He seemed like he didn’t have a care in the world. Our waiter, EJ, placed a delicious butter soaked lobster and some shrimp in front of us. Or eyes widened. We did the fork-passing thing a few times just to make sure the other was enjoying the dish as much as it’s original owner. Somehow, passing the fork made me feel like an old couple. You never see people on a first date do this I don’t think. No, they eat off of the same fork in a feeding each other manner. (Note to self: next time, feed each other, don’t pass.) After dinner, we headed to the comedy club. “Are there anymore in your party?” Nope, we were alone and in the back so none of the comics could pick on us. Last time, I remember being scared to get up and use the bathroom in fear they would point me out. The person brave enough to leave always does so in a hurry blocking out the last joke hoping it’s not about them but it always is. Really all that does is make it funnier because he can’t even hear the joke about him. I’m not sure if I liked the comics more or the people I could see laughing at them. There’s always the drunk guy shouting, the flirty girl, the gay couple that doesn’t really know what to do when the comic makes jokes about them. Oh, and the older people who don’t laugh at the sex jokes because they don’t remember what sex is. What I don’t understand is why is it that comedy clubs love talking about how hard the servers are working? In between sets, some poor guy got up to say, “Don’t forget to tip your servers, they’ve worked really hard for you tonight.” The next break, that same guy would say, “Let’s give it up for the servers!” Of course, we’d all clap like idiots. I mean, do they work any harder than a server who’s not in a comedy club? I think they’ve got it pretty good. Everyone is required to order two drinks, plus everyone they’re serving is laughing and having a good time. Rarely have I seen an angry customer at a comedy club. Ya, the joke may not make you laugh, but after the two drink minimum, they get a little funnier. Maybe they make a big deal out of it because they’re trying to slump down and serve you while weaving in and out between tables. Sounds like an Olympic sport waiting to happen. I’ve waited tables so I know they’ve got it good. I enjoyed laughing with my lover. Hearing his laugh makes me laugh even harder sometimes. Laughter was quite the aphrodisiac last night. It always is.
After a rather delicious meal, I flossed my teeth. Not because there was anything stuck where it shouldn’t be, but because it was on the counter and I was feeling a bit guilty. Guilt usually kicks in about a week or so before I see a dentist. I floss and brush like mad trying to turn back the clock. One week of compulsive teeth habits won’t make up for lazy nights I eat pie in bed and fall asleep, but I always try. Anyway, after flossing, I hopped into a bath, grabbed my book, and scratched my eye. It suddenly felt like I poured Listerine in it. At first, I thought it was fresh peppercorn remnants from dinner, but then I saw that damn floss out of my peripheral vision. It was mint flavored. For a few seconds, I thought I was going blind. I can be dramatic at times, yes, but this is not the kind of drama I prefer. Instead, I think I’d like to live in the UK and be anorexic thin with nipples that point towards God. I’d wear black tights, leather boots and a short plaid skirt. The skirt would look great with my sweater. I don’t even own a sweater but in the UK? Hell ya. (I guess when you live in the desert, owning a sweater somehow sounds dramatic.) My lover would be way too gorgeous and treat me like gold. I’d only be slightly in love with him so I’d abuse our relationship by making him run errands and give me money. I’d have a crush on my flat mate whom I would live with. He’d be gay of course so we’d talk about clothes while he did my hair. Before we’d go to the club, I’d pout about my pale skin. At the club, we’d make fun of all the sluts while he sparked up my fag. I’d look quite sexy smoking and giving everyone the cold shoulder because I’d be way too pretty to be seen in a club like that. My boyfriend would catch me smoking and get upset so I’d have to use fun phrases like “Oh, bloody hell Richard!” We’d fight all the way home where I’d be forced to stomp my heels on the hard wood floor trying to prove my point before kicking him out. I hate cats but for some reason, I feel I should have one. Yes, a cat named Fatboy. I’d pick him up and ask, “Did Fatboy miss his Mummy?” (Wow, in my head that accent makes me sound like such a bitch) I’d stay up late talking with my gay roommate who just got shagged by some cute one-night stand. The next day we’d go to a lovely coffee shop, sit outside with our double espresso and fill each other in with every dirty detail. It would be almost noon but due to all the drama, we’d both wear huge dark glasses and look like snobby models. After breakfast, we’d start drinking gin and tonics and start all over again. Yes, that sounds lovely. Oh, the other words I’d be excited to use would be tart, bugger, and wanker.
So cute hubby will be going out of town for two weeks soon. At first, I freaked out. Second, I called my mom for backup. She agreed with excitement to stay for part of the time I would otherwise be alone. The email I received shortly made me laugh. It was something like this:
“M, Can’t wait to come for a visit. While I’m there, maybe you can go get your haircut or get someone to do your makeup. What else would you like to do? Change your curtains or reupholster your chairs? Maybe I could help you organize your closet?”
Ok, I love my mother dearly. I called her because she’s the one who can whip me back into shape in a matter of hours. She’s the most giving, self-sacrificing woman I know too. What I think is funny about this email is what she was really trying to say to me.
It’s amazing, in a nice way, she was actually telling me I need a haircut, new makeup, new curtains with a more pleasing fabric, and closets with less chaos. Damn, she’s good.
The problem with your mom visiting is the pre-visit house preparation. You have to hide all things you’d be embarrassed for your mom to find. For us, that includes a number of things that would make a grown man blush. The problem is, do you just get rid of them, reducing all chances? Or do you cover things up by hollowing out an encyclopedia? That should do the trick involves way too much work. Plus, I don’t want to scar her for life when she tries to read the Bible and finds something pink and wobbly, holding it up and saying in a Texas accent….”Well good Lord honey, what do you think this is?” No, we can’t have that. Well, I’ve only got a week to hide all suspicious paraphernalia and look innocent so I should get busy.
Somehow, my life is getting ahead of me and I can’t seem to get a hold of it. Like when you see a bad comic being pulled off stage with those huge canes. I keep trying to run up ahead but damn, it’s fast. By the end of the day, I’m exhausted and give up thinking I’ll try again tomorrow. At the end of teaching a class, I don’t even have time to reflect on its success. I have to turn around and prepare for another one. I enjoy it but when I focus on the job, the house falls apart. When I have all the meals prepared, we’re all left standing around in our underwear. When we’re all wearing ironed clothes, we’re poor because that means I haven’t been working. We argued last night, which is a nice way of saying we had a fight. Waves of it are still rushing over me today. I feel a little beat up and battered by words. That makes me shrink away from life. Feeling ugly inside. My words struck first but his left an impression. We never argue so when we do, it really freaks me out. He’s quick to apologize but I hold back thinking if I’m the last to hold out, I have the control but really it’s the weaker one who doesn’t apologize. I’m usually the weaker one. Making up too soon makes me think it’s been iced over. I ponder the words and expressions. He tries to pick up where the fun left off before the fight by being a bit too silly which was starting to get on my nerves. I needed him to ask me out on a date, a date that involves more than an hour together. I like playing and laughing and acting silly but I called it quits tonight and told him I just wanted to be respected and listened too. That meant no grabbing, spanking, or teasing. I think I confused the hell out of him. I need a bath. That usually does it, that or a brownie. Yes, I think I’ll have both. Now, I’ll be nice and relaxed for our date on Friday.
Even at 7:30am, I was one of the last to arrive at the park. There were about five mothers and two dads, one of each kind. There was the father who felt out of place so he remained quiet through all of the motherly chitchat. There was the other type of park father who felt comfortable by talking way too much while we sat there feeling uncomfortable. His name was Craig. Craig told me he was about to take a road trip to Iowa. I smiled thinking, “I hope he doesn’t actually expect me to engage in a talk about Iowa.” He said, “Ya, Iowa stands for Ignorant Old Women and Men. I said, “That doesn’t spell Iowa.” “Well it does where I grew up.” Luckily, a more intelligent parent started talking to me about the slide. There is a slide at this park that shoots the kids out like they’re being hurled out of a cannon. They all cry when they get thrown about two feet from the slide but for some reason, they’re drawn to it. I try to detour spirited toddler from the slide of death but some parents use it to “toughen up their kids” Craig encouraged his little one to try it again and again. Maybe he was trying to prove to us that his daughter was the alpha toddler. One child began to throw sand up in the air causing an unpleasant sand shower. His mommy was too busy trying to stop the dog from running away with the jogging stroller. I’ve seen her before and every time, she brings more humor to my day. Shortly after parking her stroller under the Palo Verde tree, the jack russel terrier that was supposed to lay quietly by it’s side, took off. In his excitement, he was dragging the stroller at a high rate of speed. Instinctively, we gathered our children for protection. None of us wanted our children to die from a runaway stroller or a jack russle terrier. Craig ignored everything because he was too busy fighting with his wife on the cell phone. Like most cell phone users, he chose to drag us into his personal life due to his lack of cell phone manners. One by one, the mothers started gathering their sippy cups and tried prying their toys from another child’s sandy hand. The park patrons were dwindling. The dads never outlast the moms, including Craig. It was almost 9:00am. Everyone knows the importance of going back home before the sun swallows you whole.
Ok, everyone...someone in the Mo'Time family is sick so let's go over to DearBrian and wish her a speedy recovery. She hasn't been online for two days. She's a blogging addict like the rest of us so I was a little worried. The man in her life has informed me that she's in the hospital with an appendicitus. She's already had surgery and is now enjoying the morphine. Later, he will try to sneak in some ice cream so wish him luck. I know she's anxious to get home so let's fill her blog with love. Thanks!
It was late in the afternoon so I was thinking that seeing her would be more trouble than it was worth, but I went. She greeted me with a hug, and small talk before going into her room. It was dimly lit with a candle and the sun trying to break in. It wasn’t having much luck. She left the room and I knew just what to do. The bottom half of my clothes came off first, then the top. Without folding them, I laid them on the wicker chair. Standing there naked, I glanced in the mirror while I twisted my hair up. I knew she would want my neck exposed. I slid under the white sheet just as she was knocking. My words were muted from lying face down but she understood I was not turning her away. It was my back she chose to touch first. I remembered why I desired her. Even more relaxed, I took in a deep breath. She made me feel like I was the only one, but I knew she had others just like me. Lowering the sheet just above the spot every woman seems to have a tattoo these days, I felt exposed. She never once took a hand off of me. We were attached somehow. My hips felt her hands just before she put the sheet back over my now oily back. Her toes left my vision as I felt her hands trailing down towards my legs. She spread them slightly. My feet ached for her attention just as she made her way down. “I could work on someone’s feet for an entire hour,” she said. “Ok, I’m going to lift the sheet up while you turn over on your back.” Awkwardly, I accepted the challenge. Each finger was touched and caressed by Ginny, one by one. She lifted my head up as she released my hair over the padded table. She knew I loved her touching my neck and shoulders. This time was no different. Oddly, I really liked her fingers in my ears, pulling and massaging them. She entangled her fingers in my black hair giving my scalp some love. Within what seemed like minutes, even though I knew it was an hour, she thanked me and left the room. “Take as long as you need.” I grudgingly got off the table towards my clothes. Opening the door, she came in and asked how I was feeling. She already knew the answer but I humored her anyway. I decided not to be selfish when I said, “I think my husband would love getting a massage by you.” She agreed that would be lovely as I made an appointment for him. Coming home, the thought of him meeting her turned me on. I told him what awaited him while we made love.
Cute hubby grabbed the phone all of a sudden. I wondered whom he was calling but I recognized the name instantly. I thought, “that’s weird, he’s calling my brother in-law.” As I listened to the conversation, I sat there amazed. He called to straighten things out and apologize. The apology went something like this, “I was feeling bad about a comment I made to you when we were visiting and I was calling to apologize.” It was quiet on our end before a smile was on his face again. I knew he had been feeling bad about being sarcastic to him but apparently it was really bothering him. They talked and I kept watching. By now, I wasn’t listening to the conversation but I was thinking about how sexy it was to see my husband in that way. Maybe sexy isn’t the word but I must say, I fell in love with him all over again. He went on to explain that when he grew up, if someone got their feelings hurt by another, they wouldn’t say anything. Instead, it would build up until someone exploded. I could tell they were in agreement with their past families and how they handled confrontation. He said, “I just thought I would make sure I didn’t upset you because I don’t want that to happen in my family.” Afterwards, I guess they felt the need to act like manly men again so they discussed baseball. The phone was put away when I shared with him just how important I thought that phone call was. He didn’t think much of it because he just wanted to do the right thing but for my own husband to call another man and apologize in front of his own son and wife? Well, he was teaching us all a lesson at that moment. I don’t think I ever heard my own dad apologize to me or anyone else for that matter. Now, I know spirited toddler doesn’t know what his daddy did I do, and when he’s old enough, I’ll tell him just how smart and brave and strong his daddy is. I admire him which is a great asset to someone I communicate with everyday. He makes me want to be a better person. Hours later, when he went to yoga, I got a phone call. It was my brother in law again, only this time he wanted to talk to me. Now I must tell you that I like him but I’m thankful I didn’t marry a guy like him. I guess no man will ever be good enough for my sister. I admire my sister too, but for other reasons. She has a job she has become quite successful at. In fact, she was flying back after another important interview when he called. “How do I draw a bath for her?” I was a bit confused thinking what a weird question. I said, “what?” He told me that my sister would be home soon and she was exhausted so he was going to make her a hot bath. His specific questions were about bath products. “How much of these salts should I put in?” I suggested music, candles, and a little aromatherapy. I could hear his excitement building after each of my ideas. “Ok, thanks. She’s almost here, gotta go.” All I hear is my sister complaining about him but at that moment, I vowed to stick up for him. He was trying and I had proof. On a lighter note, cute hubbys friend came over on Wednesday to fix our computer and I must say, he seemed to do quite a nice job because it’s much faster. I had never met him before but we chatted awhile and I asked him a few questions. He’s supposed to come back this evening to add some more memory for us except he asked cute hubby if he could come over when I wasn’t there. I was hurt knowing this because he even sat down to dinner with us and seemed to enjoy my company. I just figured I made him uncomfortable so after questioning cute hubby, I found out that his friend was honest with him in telling him he felt attracted to me when he was over and would just feel more comfortable coming back over when I wasn’t around. I laughed and thought how cute he was. I was flattered and impressed with him being honest. He was aware of what he was willing to handle and what he was comfortable with. It’s amazing, in such a short time, I witnessed three different men making themselves vulnerable for the sake of honesty and respect.
Two beautiful people greeted me this morning, one holding the other. I tried to blink them away before I heard, “1,2,3…wake up mommy!” They were alive and full of joy but last night’s sleeplessness still had me feeling angry and bitter so I tried to focus on the smell of coffee making it's way into the bedroom. I’m reading a book about being creative and letting your creative side shine but I was filled with resentment instead. I resented the fact that people around me were snuffing out my creative side and I didn’t have the energy to tell them to stop. I have half written stories, half knitted projects, and half read books lying all over the house. Time and energy zapped from others left me feeling hollow. When everyone is asleep, I try to sneak in some me time but my creative juices just stopped flowing. In my head, I’m conducting stories or planning a lay out of pictures for the family scrapbook but when it comes down to it, I’m too tired to put my plans into action. Only twelve more days until the sleep doctor appointment. I’m hoping all of our nights will improve once we learn why we have a sleepless child. Anyway, I cried in the shower knowing a day of play dough and finger-paints awaited me. I wanted my day to start in a bakery with a chocolate croissant and coffee but who doesn’t? Instead, I faked my mood by applying lipstick and brushing out my hair. I thought, “When I’m feeling like this, don’t call to make a hair appointment. Only disaster comes from 'I need a sudden change' mood.” I’ve got everything a girl ever dreams of and I know that, but without sleep, things can become distorted. Yesterday I called seven friends to see if they wanted to take the kids to the pool but no one was game. I would trade all seven friends for one true one. Today I wouldn’t let that sadness direct me. Grudgingly, I packed spirited toddler in the car for our first summer art class, “Gooey, musical, fun.” The teacher informed us we were to grab a coffee can, decorate it with glitter, and pipe cleaners and beat them like drums. With all of our crafty things, we headed to the table. It took glue, paint, feathers, and fuzzy pompons to make his drum complete. We did it together. The mother behind me spoke to her own kids, “no, we’re not allowed to play our drums until tomorrow. We have to wait until the glue dries.” They obeyed, sat in their chairs quietly and finished their instruments. I looked at spirited toddler with blue glitter in his hair and paint all over his face and smiled. He sat on the floor with legs spread, drums in between, banging the drum with pure joy. My fingers had pealing dried glue and neon paint on them. My shorts and top were also decorated with paint from an exuberant two year old hugging his mommy. I realized then that I had a more important job, and that was to teach some else how to be creative and how to embrace every moment. I was doing a good job. I have a creative, musical, gooey kid who loves life. He reflects my daily creativity through his laughter and tears. You have to be creative getting a squirmy kid dressed and in the car. You have to be creative when you call the blueberries, dragon berries just so he’ll eat one. You have to be creative when you direct a spirited toddler to put the hose in the pool and not on you. I’m creative in other ways now. People may never go to an art gallery to see my work but I’m ok with that. My artwork grows and changes with every book I read him, with every song I sing him, and with every picture we paint together. His life is a piece I’m proud to display in our own gallery called home.
This birthday has composed of two deadly sins: gluttony and murder. The morning started out nice; full of cake and presents, you know, the usual birthday stuff but that quickly changed when I chose to get in my car intoxicated. Now I wasn’t drinking but I think I was pretty high from all the butter cream frosting. I just wasn’t thinking about whom I was hurting but now I realized I hurt an entire family. They will never be the same. The worst part is that in my sugar stupor, I tried to cover up the murder by quickly running my car through a car wash. I tried distract the kid who wanted me to upgrade my car wash by batting my eyes. Thank goodness it worked. I haven’t checked to see if there are still remnants of blood, or heaven forbid, fur. He just darted out in front of me. Well, actually, it was more of a hippity hop but he was too slow, or maybe I was just too fast. My reaction time must have been slowed. I feel the need to let you know that it was not a hit and run but I thought about it. I got out to make sure it was dead. I didn’t feel it’s pulse or anything but it was pretty flat. I could tell at one time he had a fluffy tail that blew in the desert breeze although now it was lifeless. How odd, here I am celebrating my 29th year of living life while a few moments of recklessness took a life. After I got home, I guess the guilt must have started kicking in because I grabbed a knife. The sharpest one I could find because I had a big job in front of me. I stabbed the watermelon with one quick deep thrust. It didn’t scream out like the rabbit may have. I couldn’t hear if he did because my radio was too loud of course but I’d like to think he didn’t. Anyway, as I stabbed the melon, the juices started to pour and it seemed the cutting slowly helped take away my guilt and depression. In the beginning, I thought I was cutting pieces of it to give to spirited toddler but I think I was just lying to myself. I had one bite but that was all it took. Slowly throughout the day, I ate more and more and more until I couldn’t’ stop. Now, before you panic at the thought of me consuming an entire watermelon, I should tell you that it was not a natural one. The watermelon was tiny and seedless. I’ve never seen one like it before. It just seemed like they took out some of the fun when they took out all those seeds. I had nothing to spit. This was probably for the best though. I don’t know how it happened but I just went in the kitchen and realized I had eaten it all. Again, I tried to cover up by throwing the rind in the trash and cleaning up any remaining juice before cute hubby comes home. I’ve covered up some things I’m not so proud of today but I figure it will only take a piece of cake to make it all go away again. This time I won’t eat and drive.
The boys are out shopping. Shopping for what you might ask? My birthday! Woo Hoo me…. Tomorrow starts my last year as a twenty something. Now, I haven’t received any gifts from my motime friends yet but I’m sure you’re probably late due to the holiday. If you don’t live in the states, than you’re just late I guess. That’s ok, a late birthday present is still fun so don’t feel bad.
Now the one thing I want for my birthday is a nerd. That’s right. I want a nerd to visit my house. A computer nerd to be exact. Now I’m sure they don’t like being called nerds but I actually think nerds can be sexy too so if you’re a computer nerd, I embrace you. Now, I’ll be paying this nerd by the hour to come clean up my hardrive. It takes about fifteen minutes just to log on and I’m sick of it. I’ve tried cleaning it but let’s face it; I had no idea what I was doing so that really doesn’t count. I’m sure it’s full of spy ware, pop ups, and porn. I’m not sure how the first two got on there but it’s starting to slow me down. I guess one who works on computers should expect a nice family to have a little porn on their home computers so I’m not worried about that. What concerns me is having a service man in my house. I’m sure I’m not the only one but it’s so damn awkward. I try to over compensate for my insecurities when they’re around so I do stupid things like offer them water and ask about their day. I want them to be invisible. Get in and get out. A service quickie you could say. I’m sure they don’t want to be talked to either but it’s just weird having someone in the house and ignore them. Maybe I should get over this. One time I had the carpet cleaner and refrigerator repairman at the same time. It was a nightmare. I called cute hubby because I just couldn’t handle the uncomfortable moments. He slowly walked me through it and called to keep checking on me. When a computer nerd comes to your house, do you stock up on junk food? I guess I’ve seen too many movies with computer guys working on desks full of candy wrappers and coffee.
Think of me as you’re eating your cereal tomorrow because I will be having a huge cupcake for breakfast; the birthday breakfast of champions.
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