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I just did some research for adopting a toddler and I can't believe loving a kid can be so hard. The hoops you have to go through are unbelieveable. I know everyone wants their share of money but I wish a child would just appear at our doorstep like a sign, This Is The One. In just an hour, I've become totally overwhelmed and have no idea where to start. Urrgh!
I'm also frustrated by the two people I informed yesterday. Why do people choose to live in holes? Both of them didn't even know about the tsunami and couldn't grasp the concept. I had to relate the death toll to them by explaining how many football stadiums it equaled, then that seemed to make more sense. I was ashamed that they didn't have the desire to be informed, they never have. Come on, all you need is a heart to care about what's going on in other countries. All they care about is what's on sale and when Extreme Makeover starts. The world is full of wonders and I can't wait to explore every nook and cranny. I want to wrap my arms around culture, any culture but mine, I've already experienced mine.
If I could be locked up in a store overnight, I think I’d pick Target. Although, I’ve heard Ikea’s pretty nice.
I love to blog but lately it’s been a challenge, a struggle even. Confused by this, I gave it some thought. Tonight, with Hershey kisses and a glass of Merlot, I’ll let it flow. Over the year, I’ve told some silly tales, some shocking tales, even some outrageously boring tales but they’ve all been true. Reading them, you may think you’ve gotten to know me a bit but actually it’s just what I want you to know. The sweetness of blogs is that I get to choose what I tell you and what I don’t. I tell you the story. I tell you the important parts. I even tell you how it ends and how you should feel. I find myself pulling back the leash a bit because I never want this blog to get too far ahead. I like it right by my side where I tell it to heel. Here’s the problem, I’m feeling constricted. I’ve squeezed the truth out of my posts but just enough to get you to comment or to read but I don’t actually tell you anything outside my comfort zone. Anyway, I’m going to tell you some things that you’ve never known about me. I’m hoping this will get me over my blogging block. Here are the things I’m stopping you from knowing about me. I guess once you know them, they’re out there, leaving me vulnerable but I’m willing to take that chance and just live. If you feel the need to make hurtful comments, go for it.
Last night I cried and cried hearing, seeing, and thinking about what was going on in the countries facing the tsunami. I hate feeling hopeless. I hate feeling people’s pain. I hate seeing people hurt. I often take on that hurt leaving myself lifeless with insomnia. My husband and I opened up the atlas, looked at all the countries and tried to fathom the devastation. He held me while I spilled my guts about how we’re so blessed and some people have and never will have anything. Just by chance I’m here and I’m taking full advantage. We prayed together, which helped me relax. I believe that God doesn’t change his mind based on my simple prayers but it changes my perspective on life, therefore I pray, we pray, we teach our son to pray too.
I’m a damn good mother. In fact, I may be the world’s best mother. I wake him up with hugs and kisses. We live at the park and library. I collect bugs and dirt and put them in jars. I pretend to be a firefighter most days and spray him with the water hose. This week alone I must have read 34 books to him and acted like a monster 16 times. I can make forts and macaroni and cheese blindfolded. There are many days where I put on a video for him and take a bath because I know my limits too. I love him with all my heart and I selfishly ask God everyday to not let him die because that’s my worst fear. I also feel like God has placed adoption on my heart and we’re considering it which scares me to death. We’ve filled his little life with excitement and a love but we have room for more who need it.
I love my husband more today than when I fell in love with him. We love each other through words, action, and touch everyday. I truly believe we choose to love each other so we do and it comes easy to us. I’m amazed still to this day how he makes me feel giddy when he comes home. I’m amazed at how last night he could ramble off these weird interesting facts about countries I’ve never heard of. Divorce isn’t an option for us and it works. We both grew up in stable loving households that modeled great marriages and for that I’m thankful. Like everyone else, we’ve had challenges and personal struggles but in no way do they shadow my outlook. I make no apologies; I love my life, marriage, child, books, TV, bathtub, and God…not particularly in that order.
Christmas, like an orgasm, it’s all about the build up. Afterward, regret sets in but it’s too late. Christmas was left me with 5lbs of ham in my refrigerator, 5lbs of fat on my ass, and an itchy cat…yeast infection from hell. Someone who loves me thought I’d enjoy cheap bath salts from the grocery store. I did for the moment but now my hands are doing things they’d rather not. Oh and did I mention the huge burn on my thumb? Another person who loves me thought I’d enjoy making animal shaped pancakes for spirited toddler. It was fun until the elephant wouldn’t let go of the food leaving me no choice but to reach inside and try to release the pancake. Let’s just say he won but I put up a fight. Speaking of burns, Santa Claus brought spirited toddler the easy-bake oven he wanted but it’s pointless when I’m doing the cooking, he gets too excited to even sit still and stir the cake mix. Here I am, a trained chef trying to cook with a light bulb. Last night I left the sugar cookie in for too long and the edges burnt causing a toddler to tantrum leaving me to question my culinary abilities. If I can’t cook with a 100watt light bulb, what good am I? I realized later it was just stress and exhaustion catching up to me. Looking back, now I know why it was so stressful, I did everything. For Cute Hubby, it was like Santa really did come to our house, he woke up to a magical day wondering how it all came together considering he didn’t do shit. “Did we get my parents anything?” “Shut up.” After opening up presents, we quickly ran outside to try out the new baseball bat that daddy swung a bit too hard leaving spirited toddler rolling on the ground screaming in pain from the baseball that almost knocked him unconscious. Is Christmas really worth all this? Next year I’ll try to have realistic expectations remembering to take care of myself first, like an orgasm.
Tonight, my job is to sit outside his bedroom in case Santa Claus wants to go in. When I see Santa, I’m supposed to tell him he’s not allowed to come in his bedroom, just leave the presents and go. I’m going to do it too. I’ll park myself just outside the door so I can still see him by the light of the Christmas tree. I’m planning on eating Santa’s cookies, I’m sure he’ll be full by the time he makes his way through the desert.
This will be my first official Christmas away from home. I’ve always gone back or they’ve come here. This year, we’re staying in our own corners of the world, celebrating separately. What I love about getting married and starting a family is that now is the time, the time to start our own rituals and traditions. Today I’m throwing a brunch filled with friends who would rather spend Christmas with friends, not family. We’ll be having 4 recovering alcoholics, 1 British nanny, 1 Jewish guy that loves my cooking, and 3 friends complete with husbands and kids, I can’t wait. Having a home filled with laughter and friends is worth the carpet stains, oh and the paper plates make a difference too.
Yesterday I hated him. Today I love him.
Yesterday I felt misunderstood. Today I’m copasetic.
Yesterday I felt overwhelmed. Today the pieces fit.
Yesterday I didn’t think he got it. Today I do.
Yesterday I wanted him to go away. Today I hated to see him leave.
Yesterday I was resentful. Today I remember why I adore him.
What a difference a conversation can make.
What a difference meeting in the middle can make.
I listened. I took in the words, so did he.
My book club is starting to read crappy books filled with mental masturbation. I don’t have time to read things I hate but I’ve committed to reading them all. I just checked the latest book out from the library but I got it on CD. Does this count as cheating? I consider it’s like reading cliff notes, I can just fast forward at the touch of a button.
My famous friend sent me a bottle of Champagne for Christmas. The bottle cost more than I spent on all of my friends combined so I felt pressure to enjoy every single drop, you know, get my money’s worth. I tried but one small woman can’t consume that kind of pressure over a weekend. Some would question why I didn’t save it for a special night but a night where I watched the entire first season of Arrested Development is special enough. Earlier that day, I listed to The Indigo Girls while I did some housework so by the end of the night I was having horrible mood swings. One minute I was a rich bitch and the other minute I was a lesbian bitch, both were funny characters although one had a bigger house and wore lipstick.
There will be an awesome Christmas Eve brunch at my house and all Motimers are welcome. I’ve made a list of the necessary items I’d like you to bring to insure we all have a Merry Christmas. Feel free to trade with another Motimer if you’re not comfortable with the item I’ve assigned you.
Annonymous, you’ll be in charge of bringing the stockings, fish net will not do this time, sorry. Zithereen, I’d love for you to bring the birthday cake for Baby Jesus. Eventually, we’ll get drunk and want to pop out of it so make sure it can fit at least 4 partygoers. TechieIdiot, I’d love you to bring the wine because I’m afraid our friend Rustymadgal will bring a case of Coors and I’d hate to have a white trash Christmas Eve. Rusty, I’ll need an extra refrigerator for all the drinks so could you please bring one that you’re not using from your front yard? Vernonlee, because you love the ladies so much, I’ve elected you to be our jolly Santa. Each one of us will get to sit on your lap (boys, this is optional of course but strongly suggested) so please dress accordingly and don’t forget the presents. Frozendishes, I have just emailed you the recipe for my famous sausage cheese balls. You’ve got to love a recipe with the word sausage and balls in it! (the cheese is just a bonus) 120pages, please bring candy canes, they’ll make great swizzle sticks for the bar. Banzaidescent, I haven’t forgotten you, you’re in charge of bringing the best Christmas movie of all times, A Christmas Story. After movie time, we’ll be full of Christmas joy so we can gather around Howard while he reads The Night Before Christmas. I’ve got a special pop-up version that rocks; actually I find most things that pop-up quite enjoyable so I know you will too. I’m not Jewish but if you prefer to take the Hanukkah route, BYOJB, that’s Bring Your Own Jewish Book, Howie’s always quite accommodating. Hope to see you all there. RSVP.
I think I’m a fatist. Yesterday I met Rachel, my new trainer. Now, I don’t exactly workout at a posh club with a juice bar and towel service, I workout at the YMCA. I guess I’m getting what I’m paying for but let’s face it, I expected a trainer who was in shape. Wouldn’t you? I stepped on the scale and Rachel said, “not bad.” What the heck! Rachel was probably a good 100pounds overweight so how on earth is she expected to motivate me when she doesn’t even use the products she promotes? I need someone with a sculpted body spotting me, not eating cookies while watching me sweat. Seriously folks, yesterday she was snacking on a Snickers bar as I walked into the room. I’m smart enough to consume such contraband before entering, not while on the premise. Typically, I’m not a fatist but when it comes to my personal trainer, I’m not apologizing. If you're wondering, Cute Hubby couldn't hack it as my trainer. He'd forget and I'd say, "Aren't you supposed to tell me to go running?" Basically, I was doing his job too. I'm back to square one which involves just being content.
The water hangs like weights from my hair. I know it’s early but alone time is like gold. Today I sacrifice sleep for time. I set “The Secret Life Of Bees” down and sink into the water. I love how it surrounds me, my cocoon. The water runs creating necessary white noise for a drifting mind. I try to piece together my dreams from the night but it makes no sense, they never do. I wonder why I looked at the clock five times last night. After three I started counting, making it worse. I go over in my head what to tell the counselor about today. I wonder what he’ll look like and if there’ll be the cliché leather couch, a couch would be nice. I’ll tell him about the occasional anxiety attack when I can’t control the situation. I’ll talk to him about my evil mother in law who just trapped us into visiting in May. Hell, that’s five months away but she has to “know right away so she can order the tickets.” I can’t plan that far in advance and I hate when someone asks me to. I stick my toe into the waterspout while admiring my green and red Christmas nail polish. I sink further down to warm myself in the steaming water and masturbate. It’s like a deep breath, leaving me energized and relaxed. I put my robe on and step out of the tub. I can do this.
Yesterday I drove through the bank to make a deposit. I pulled up in the right lane, which happened to be the farthest one from an actual live teller. The pleasant banker said, “Hello, I’ll be right with you.” I cheerfully thanked her because I was excited someone had acknowledged my patient waiting. I put my check in the tube and awaited my receipt. She then continued to talk to me about Christmas shopping, and whether or not I’m having a good day. I smile and talk to her like we were friends but I couldn’t actually see her at the window, the glare. The invisible girl sent me my receipt and a lollipop at which I was thrilled at because it meant some stranger who couldn’t see me loves me and thinks I’m nice enough for a lollipop. As I drive away, I realized I just had a pleasant conversation with a pole. A gift giving pole.
I created a major marriage mistake that I’m regretting. Two days ago as we lay in bed discussing our Christmas lists, I mention my desire for a drill sergeant to come over and kick my ass. My thought was that someone could come over, tell me what to eat and give me some new motivating exercises. Here’s the problem, because I can’t afford a drill sergeant, Cute Hubby volunteered. I’m not sure if it was his hand on my ass or the fact that it was midnight that caused my lack of clarity but it’s too late. I’m starving and aching all over. Last night when my growling belly requested Frosted Flakes, he made me do 100 sit-ups. I think it was 8th grade gym class where I did my last sit-up before last night so I was shocked at how awful they are. Today I’ve gone on a bike ride and munched on carrots while glaring at him. I’ve created a monster over here. “Drop and give me 10!” he said after I felt like slacking. I said, “Get off your ego trip. I’m not giving you anything, including sex because if I have to suffer, so do you!” Neither one of us have given in yet, like that Seinfeld episode where they have a contest to see who’s “Master of their Domain.” I can feel it, bartering is about to begin. I’d do shameful acts for a handful of M&M’s right now.
I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is that I won’t be making it to the slick Christmas party full of lawyers. The bad news is that I won’t be going because I have the world’s sickest kid behind me watching TV, too tired to lift his head, another ear infection. When it’s your kid, he’s the sickest kid in the whole wide world and you feel helpless. I’d put on a girdle and wear heels and go to that party to take away his illness but I can’t. The good news is that I get to return that expensive but hot dress I was going to wear tonight. No point in keeping it, believe me. Oh, and I finished my Christmas cards last night and I think they’re pretty funny. I wrote a letter highlighting this year. So for you, here’s a short recap since I don’t know your addresses, and I’m out of stamps.
This holiday season is already better than last because this time last year, Cute Hubby fell from a ladder after I made him put Christmas lights on the house. This year, lights in the tree because he’s just too valuable around here and I hated giving him sponge baths after his hospital stay.
That’s it besides the fact that I’m pleased and ashamed to admit that this weekends movie rental is Dodgeball.
The culinary school I went to after college had this fancy smancy restaurant that was run by all the students so we could get used to cooking osso bucco, and lobster tails. After the patrons left the restaurant, it was our time to feast on the items not ordered. We’d throw on some steaks, cook some shrimp, and eat all the desserts. We’d eat outside which offered us a nice relief after slaving away over a hot grill for rich people all night. We’d sit around with our white coats, hats, and blood stained aprons chatting about the rude customers, our aching feet, and where we were going for happy hour. One night a student stands up gasping for air with fear shooting through his body. Within seconds, we got quiet and watched a much smaller student give him the Heimlich maneuver. In an instant, the choker shot up a hunk of steak right in front of us. We all kept staring, waiting for what was to happen next. He played it off after catching his breath, thanking his life saving friend after getting the crap scared out of him. I don’t remember his name but I saw him yesterday, the thankful choker. How sad, I didn’t remember him for his culinary expertise but I could still picture him and that chewed piece of meat being hurled in my direction as I jump to avoid it. I wonder what I’ll be remembered for.
Last night I did the second most feared activity this holiday season. I went shopping for a dress to wear to Cute Hubby’s office party. Of course, the actual act of going to the party is the first most feared act but I have three more days until that nightmare ends. Here’s the problem, I hate most of these people that I’m supposed to impress with my charm, wit, and cleavage. Finding a sophisticated, elegant, in style dress that fits is like finding a diamond in my backyard, which is riddled with pebbles and orange dirt. Oh, and did I mention the need to buy the cheapest dress possible? I might as well have just crawled in a hole and eaten my weight in ice cream because that’s how dress shopping makes me feel. In fact, any shopping makes me feel like poking my eyes out with a sharp stick, a sharp stick that’s on fire! I came home without a dress but with glitter in my static cling filled hair, remnants of the stupid outfits that went over my head in that god forsaken well lit dressing room. I need a dresser, not to put my clothes in but to come over every morning and tell me what to wear. I also could use someone to do my hair and makeup after they’ve made me follow a strict exercise routine. Then I need someone to make all of my meals, which will be full of veggies and protein, leaving my skin looking healthy and vibrant. Here’s my Christmas list basically: a nanny, a chef, a dresser, a make up artist, and a personal trainer. That should do it. It seems as if the pain of shopping has carried over into today and for that, I’m sorry. I’ll probably act a bit bitchy until I’m allowed to leave the office party from hell. Before marriage, I was like every other bloody co worker who would get drunk and get laid that night but now that I’m out of that scene, I’d rather scream at these people that they’re dumb and wasting their time going home with each other and they’ll regret that last drink in the morning. Ok, I’m stopping now and slowly backing away from the computer.
I’m not like most people in the fact that I get a rush from cleaning out my house, a closet, a bathroom, the garage or refrigerator, all pleasurable in a fucked up sort of way. For two weeks now I’ve been down on my knees, not doing what I’m good at like blowjobs, but finding anything that serves no purpose and place it in the “garage sale” pile. Once I had a garage sale in college and made $300 so I was hopeful although, in college I had big-ticket items like furniture, not VHS tapes of Titanic, which I marked for $1.00. Ensuring success, I placed an add in the paper that said, “Large Family Garage Sale.” I lied because we’re only a family of three but I sort of told the truth because I’m starting to get some love handles. Here’s my point, my poor family was supporting my craziness by being in the garage with me at 6am while I hopefully awaited people to throw their money at me. My garage sale quickly turned into Cute Hubby’s garage sale seeing as how I can’t speak Spanish and he did leaving me feeling like an ignorant American who thinks English is the only language. After about a half hour, it started to rain. No, it started to pour so we drug everything back inside the garage and waited for the professional shoppers who were willing to get a bargain in the rain and wind. It felt so weird watching a stranger dig through your things. You watch them pick up something you once loved, like your coffee maker that makes a to-go cup but you lost the lid so making hot coffee to-go just doesn’t work, and they turn their nose up at it. I don’t know why I put prices on anything either. Most transactions went like this, “How much for this?” “Five dollars.” “Will you take twenty five cents?” “Sure.” Ok, I’m serious now, I’m going to stop rambling and get to my point.
Good News: my house is free of clutter
Bad News: in the process of becoming clutter free, I developed excruciating back pain
Bad News: we only made $67.00 minus $15.00 for the advertisement equals $52.00
Bad News: Emergency massage therapist needed to get me out of bed cost $73.00
Bad News: I’m still in pain with no money, which makes me feel like a loser, an organized loser to be exact.
My grandma died last night. I thought I was prepared but when I heard the words, I started to cry. I was amazed at how hearing a few unpleasant words can strike such raw gut wrenching emotions in an instant. I lay awake after being woken from a sound sleep trying to remember every detail of my childhood filled with memories of her. I was afraid that if I fell asleep, I’d forget them. I was afraid I’d wake up without the sadness, not giving her the respect she deserves. Thankfully, the sadness remains. I can still conjure up loving thoughts, I always could. I thought about how even in her 90’s she wore high heels everyday, her tiny feet molded to fit her shoes. I remember we’d play this game where I’d lie on her bed and she’d pretend not to see me. I’d giggle while she’d look all over calling my name out. Suddenly, she’d spot me and become the tickle monster running towards me. I’d walk her hallway filled with pictures as she put a name with each face. I couldn’t comprehend where Puerto Rico was so the people seemed like ghosts who lived in a far away land. Ghosts she loved so I did too. Grandma J would make Shake and Bake chicken and hamburgers I later found out were spiked with broccoli and carrots. I remember the rocking chair she’d sit in while watching soap operas, discussing each character with my grandfather. As far as I knew, these were their only friends who would visit, like clockwork, in their living room, every weekday. I can picture her sitting in that chair, feet not quite touching the ground, painting her long red fingernails. Recently, my parents had the unpleasant task of cleaning out her apartment after guiding her to the nursing home. My dad wrote me this pitiful email about how sad it was that someone’s life was summed up by black garbage bags filled with junk to be taken to Goodwill. I told him I was thankful for the garbage bags, necessary in removing the litter, leaving the most important things behind, memories.
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