Conversations with Imaginary Friends

Woman of The Hour

2012-06-07T08:23:00.001-04:00

The woman I am at 5 o’clock is sleepy and soft-skinned. She mumbles dreamily and is temptingly cute.

The woman I am at 6 o’clock is alert, snapping stiffly in the joints like magnetic buttons. She doesn’t like to talk. She observes.

The woman I am at at 7 moves slowly as if limbs were a luxury. She could take all day to cross a room, a bed, a finish line…

From 8 o’clock to noon, the woman I am is productive. She makes food and connections. Eggs are a loving metaphor for new days, bright eyes and contentment.

In the afternoon, the woman I am becomes restless and supple. Energy flows, mind and body expands. Thoughts wander in aimless tendrils.

In the gloaming, the woman I am is brittle and frazzled. Knives fly on cutting boards. Creative works shuffle into meaningless piles to make way for the circle. Food and companionship. Family and friends. Sometimes twisting, always dancing, never still.

The woman I am at 9 o’clock sings softly. She quotes stories like love letters. She winks at you and smiles wanly. She is tired, sometimes lonely, sometimes too full of kisses and touch.

The woman I am in the dark of night is her’s alone. Her husband falls asleep when he feels his pillow. She listens to the house breathing. What she thinks and feels in those moments are hers and not for an audience.

Gold Stars & First Graders

2012-05-27T19:16:00.001-04:00

Yesterday, I was cut off by a jeep flying like a bat out of hell. At 7:30 on a Saturday morning, I wondered what was the cause for such brazen maneuvers. I pulled up behind her at the next light and saw her gold star for her fallen son. I might be a little reckless in her shoes, too.

Today, I watched the story of an 84 year-old Kenyan who wanted to go to school. He wanted to read the letter from his president who acknowledged his sacrifice as a freedom fighter during British colonialism some 50 years after being held as a prisoner of war.
I don’t need much reminding of what my family sacrifices for service, but I feel blessed that the cost was not as dear as others.

Free-Form Food Nostalgia

2012-03-19T14:47:00.001-04:00

   To get a good burger, when I was little, you had to call ahead to the restaurant. Even something like fast food at What-A-Burger. You could get it anyway you wanted, but you had to wait, sometimes 30-40 minutes before pick-up. Places were different then. My mother would send my brother and I to the library across the street from brief stint with aerobics classes. She'd give us pocket change for french fries at Wendy's. This was when people still left tips for table service at fast-food joints. My brother and I, in our ignorance of gratuity would leverage this left-over change for extra fries until my mother enlightened our greedy deeds.
   I came to think about these things when eating a frozen pizza with my kids. It was heavy and chewy from the fresh veggies I added. We needed a fork and knife just to keep it tidy. It took me back to a time when delivery was still a novelty at my house. Well into my early teens, we would go out for a communal pan. Pizza Hut was literal. We would arrive and order. We'd smell everyone else's exotic combinations and beg for change to dominate the jukebox. How many times could I make the world hear "I love you Super Man-Man-Man-Man"...what was the name of that song?
   Growing up, my chicken came in a bucket. My Happy Meal was just a burger in a box. The box was my toy. My kids feel that I was robbed, but I remind them that they were fighting over the box the frozen pizza came in. What was I being robbed of, left to my imagination?
   This post really has no point if you can't remember riding in the back of pick-up trucks and glass coke bottles sold in a dispenser with a bottle-top remover.

Some Little Red-Head Girls Need To Watch Their Backs

2012-01-19T19:23:00.000-05:00

ZuZu: (Muttering to the TV.) What is her problem?
Me: (Turning from my desk.) Who are you talking about?
ZuZu: Daphne, from Scooby Doo. She's always getting captured and held captive.
Me: Hmm...So what you do you think about that? What does that say to you?
ZuZu: She needs to look behind herself sometime. People are always coming up and attacking her from behind. She needs to look around herself.
Me: So you're saying she needs to watch her back.
ZuZu: Yeah! Fred can't always save her.

Spyglass On A Marriage: Alto Queso

2012-01-03T18:45:00.001-05:00

Tres: Baby, I'm going to the store. Do you need some cheese for that soup tonight?

Me: Sure.

Tres: Well, what kind? Stinky cheese? Something 'footy'?

Me: Yeah. A little more than Gordon Lightfoot.

Tres: ????

Me: But less than Neil Diamond.

Tres: (chuckles) 'Cause Neil is High Cheese, but Gordon's just a bit cheesy.

Me: Exactly.

There Will Be Shenanigans On The Observation Deck

2011-12-12T09:52:00.000-05:00

There's something about Restorative Yoga that brings you back to your senses. Well, for me, it's my sense of humor. Maybe it's having the opportunity to freely observe that turns it on. I'm not sure if there's a cohesive story here, but there are some interesting bullet points from this weekend:

The Orgasmic Breather-- this was a very sensual woman, all of her gestures lingered and caressed. I don't think she got laid that night; she toned it down a bit for the next class.
I touched boobies. They were fake, but spectacular.
It only got weirder when the only guy in the class decided to join our "heart meditation" opting to observe from a chair. Dude, a show will cost extra.
I nearly ran over an entire family clad in matching track suits. The crunchy, trash-bag kind. As I swerved to miss them I wondered if they were heading toward an Awkward Family Photo session.
The only thing better would have been if they had matching mullets.
I stayed in a hauntingly beautiful hotel. Like out of The Shining. I kept getting locked out of my room. After four electronic key changes, I figured, the ghost of Scatman Crothers was trying to warn me about something.
Finally, I really shouldn't waste time trying to write something meaningful on holiday cards. No one reads them, unless of course, like me, you've insisted on babbling on after 8 hours of yoga training and a bubble-bath. That's the card recipients proudly pass around to their tangible friends and get a good chuckle about the darling idiot who shouldn't be allowed to write without a crayon.

It's All About The Socks

2011-11-28T13:36:00.001-05:00

I’ve spent the week climbing Mount Neverfolded. It’s an endless journey, but I’ve managed to cast off a few well-worn yoga pants and holey socks. I can’t quite shake the jeans I ripped playing hide-n-seek, though now they’re too big in the hips and exaggerate my round belly. These things brought me comfort before I started blogging; they helped hold things in.

This time two years ago, I was losing myself to the tide of my internal dialogue. I almost convinced myself that I was a lost cause. I got lucky and found an outlet for my voice. I started saying the things that scared me. I started listening to myself objectively. It wasn’t pretty. I was entitled to my grief, but I was also responsible for making it better. It took more work and listening than I’d ever expected.

The past two years of my life feel like they’re a decade apart. Two years ago, I was so unhappy, but not depressed. I’m just beginning to understand the boundaries between those two states. Superficially things aren’t that different. The furniture has moved, but house is the same. Snippets of a past shared and separate interjected as they do on holidays. I could see the seams of this family, our marriage, and they still hold. All I really need are some new socks.

T'was The Fourth Wednesday of November

2011-11-23T10:58:00.001-05:00

T'was the fourth Wednesday of November

And all through the house

not a stitch of clothing folded.

Not even a blouse.

The stockings are strewn

‘round the bed without care,

in hopes that a magic-fairy maid

soon would appear.

The children were tucked in

on the couch hogging the tube

and when you ask them for help

you could almost hear:

“F#@! you”.

The turkey’s still frozen.

You’re out of dish soap, it’s true

that you’ll be the asshole with 21 items

in express-lane #2.

But your husband is brilliant,

A right crafty old bastard

He’s arranged for a heavenly massage

with The Master.

So hang in ol’ girl

It’s only a Wednesd’y

You’ve got plenty of time to grease the path

For that old stalker that shimmies down the chimbly.

Freaky Friday

2011-11-04T11:29:00.001-04:00

This week is usually a nightmare. However, my loving husband and wonderful friends have conspired to keep me sane. Thank you all. I still struggled with the stress, but yoga always helps. In that vein, I'd like share a photo-set of a pose I thought was inaccessible, but managed to fall into. It's easier than it looks when you break it down, which is true of so many things in my life.

Don't judge the dirty floors, I'm bending over backwards here. Besides, I get credit for shaving my armpits, don't I?

2011-10-28T14:02:00.003-04:00

When the world makes you crazy, turn it upside down. Then kick it.

Cooking Lessons

2011-10-24T16:57:00.000-04:00

I was excited to see my fellas after their two night camping trip. I love to hear about all their lessons learned. Tres was especially proud of managing to take 15 little guys on a two hour hike. 3.5 miles may not seem that challenging, unless of course your between the ages of 6-9, then it’s like herding cats. They marched to cadences and relayed the line. They climbed and sang, but mostly they whined. The one thing that Tres and other dads had going for them was the promise of juicy burgers and hot dogs when they got back.

Before they left for the hike, Tres handed over the cooking assignment to another dad and his older group of boys. It was a fairly straight forward meal and since the dad is a high ranking officer in the Navy and his group of 10 kids are moving on to junior high next year, the task should have been a breeze. Or so one would think.

”Can you imagine that they hadn’t touched a thing while we were gone?” Tres asked indignantly. “They didn’t know what to do with the frozen patties, so they decided to swap meals with us (each group takes turns cooking) but wanted our input before they did it. We came in from taking these kids all over Hell and Creation and had to help cook his lunch.”

It was hard to keep a straight face with this man. I can imagine that scenario. What I can’t imagine is the number of mothers reading this, recognizing their own husbands and laughing at the fool I married.

Wordless Post: Making Pizzas From Scratch With ZuZu

2011-10-17T12:00:00.000-04:00

Half & Half

2011-10-10T14:58:00.000-04:00

This morning I was inspired by a minor inconvenience to use my resources to the best of their abilities. You see, Tres picked up Fat-Free Half & Half which would explain why my coffee tasted like liquid tar. Instead of being flummoxed, I remembered I have whole milk to back up this problem. So later, when I let The Rooster’s math meltdown push me to shouting him down, I called in my back-up.

The Rooster has a problem with perfectionism. He gets the big concepts, but loses his nut on the details. He resists redirection to another task or subject and with increasing frequency escalates to a screaming match in less than 45 minutes. Tres was off for the day and out with his friend. I called him to come get the boy for a couple of hours. They are both inclined to morning meltdowns so they can work out a coping strategy together.

Do I care if Tres is annoyed by this? Or that he has to bring him back in time for his outside class? No. If The Rooster were acting out in public school, one of us would be spending time sorting it out with the principal without the luxury of a holiday off. I explained that to our son as well. This isn’t a punishment because his dad might yell. It’s an opportunity to figure this stuff out before there are bigger consequences like having to take real time from work to correct this behavior. It can’t always be me, Kid. This parenting/partnering isn’t going to be Fat-Free Half & Half, which is only Half & Half in name. So while I have him here, I’m going to call on my husband to help our little man learn to navigate the world when my directions are failing him.

We All Have A Terminal Case Of Life

2011-10-06T13:46:00.001-04:00

I’m saddened for you, my Imaginary Friends, who are grieving the loss of Steve Jobs. You didn’t know him, but he affected your daily life and understanding of the world; that is an impressive contribution to humanity. You are entitled to grieve in all of its stages. Some of you are sad, some are angry, some are bargaining and that is to be expected. The thing is, despite your grief, you must try to remember that you come here, the internet, for a reason.

Often you seek communion with a larger world be it through ranting or re-posting. You seek to share something of yourself and enjoy in other offerings. Of course when we lose someone who affects our lives we are going to react with hurt, but the point isn’t to hurt one another, even if this loss serves to point out our own frailties. We all have a limited lifespan. None of us are getting out of here alive, but while we are and choose to be here together, isn’t it better if we try to get along?

Things I've Yet To Do 'Til Now: Bury My Head In Shame

2011-10-03T10:02:00.001-04:00

In our zeal to win the coveted “Worse Parenting of The Year” award, Tres and I decided to follow a back rub to its natural conclusion. On the couch in the living room. Before securing our baffles.

Perhaps my notorious massage induced sex noises roused the hyper-vigilant Rooster. Perhaps it was hubris. My eyes were closed, so all I know for certain is Tres is shouting “Heeeey, Budddy” and at least one boob is hanging out. I quickly compose myself with all 37 years of maturity and throw a blanket over my head.

After Tres returns the boy to bed he reminds me of how far I’ve come in life: “this reminds me of the gas-man back-flop”. It took a couple of shots of tequila to get the blanket off of my head, but eventually we soldiered on.

Things I've Yet To Do 'Til Now: Yarn Tricks

2011-10-01T16:47:00.001-04:00

Taking looming to a new level

Tunisian Simple Stiches

They may seem like Christmas colors. Tomorrow is 12 weeks to the day.

I decided to try a few new things with yarn to expand my repertoire. I found a new loom earlier today and who knows what will become of it. The latter is a scarf of 37 Tunisian Simple Stiches. 37 rows in in firm vivid color for all the years I've lived. Another block of 37 soft, frilly stitches and rows for all memories that make me who I am. There's another block forming, combining the two. It's not the shapeliest scarf, but it's a reminder that I'm growing and learning with room for expansion.

Things I've Yet To Do 'Til Now: Turn The Day Inside Out

2011-10-01T15:39:00.001-04:00

   I'm mighty chipper now. The day didn't start this way, but I decided my enjoyment rested solely on my gratitude rather than attitude. In order to do that, I would have to turn my perspective inside out.
   That doesn't mean things won't annoy me, but I can try to see the positive within. For example, my husband playing snooze-tag with alarm under the pillow next to me is frustrating, but it's also a reminder that he wants to get up and make me breakfast. The cat kneading my head, abdomen, face, and neck is disturbing at 6 am, but it's also a free massage. And that creepy nightmare about growing excessive body hair is just my subconscious telling me to get out the comforters for snuggle weather.
   Now all of this may seem silly, but this flexibility of perspective played in my favor. When only two other parents showed up to take 12 kids for Cub Scout bike ride through Great Dismal Swamp (about 12 miles long) we scraped the event and moved it to a sports field with paved paths. Since neither of my kids ride bikes proficiently, Tres and I were planning on hiking alongside. By seeing a chance to for a positive outcome, our day and hike were reduced by 2/3, a drop-off parent decided to stay and we weren't left baby-sitting a dozen rowdy boys.
   We did have one stray whose mother was working and his father was TDY, but rather than whining about it while waiting for his ride, we took him along with us for an ice cream afterwards. When his mother caught up with us, she offered The Rooster a play-date. He hasn't been on one of those since he was 5! I pray some of this positivity wore off on him before we left so he can have his friend over sometime, too.
   I'm too young to spend my days as a grouch and too long in the tooth to waste them being a brat. I recommend trying an inverted view when you get the chance. However, you might one to look in the mirror before you roll out the door. In my zeal to alter my perspective, I managed to put my shirt on inside out as well. Thankfully it was the first jacket weather day of the year.

Things I've Yet To Do 'Til Now: Become A Human Octopus

2011-09-28T16:36:00.000-04:00

And down I go

Well, there's always room for improvement

Things I've Never Done Before Revisited

2011-09-27T15:18:00.001-04:00

If you were foolish enough to follow me last year, you are familiar with this count-down. I've pared it down to a few days because let's face it, I'm running out of creative novelties that I can share with blogosphere at large. I do have some boundaries.

To recap, last year I tried to fake my way through petty jealousy of my husband's hard earned success. I tried to remind myself that I haven't sacrificed all of these years supporting him, rather I just haven't blossomed yet. There are so many things I haven't even tried yet, so why am I fussing over success?

I spent roughly 60 days trying new things and surprised myself by entertaining a few of you along the way. As well, I reminded myself that I'm worth a hell of a lot more than I claim. That was a good thing for me to do. Without that exercise I never would have told my 25 year-old boss to grow-up. I would never have seen that I needed to be her teacher; letting her build her business on her own is the best lesson I could teach her.

That's Bananas

2011-09-19T15:31:00.000-04:00

My daughter has been wondering aloud about the seed propagation of bananas. I suspect she wants to grow them in the yard. I have tried to dissuade her because the plant is a haven for rats (my aunt had a nasty ass grove in her backyard). However, it’s hard to evade the question when we’re studying plant reproduction.

And this is how I learned that bananas are slightly radioactive.

Sometime in the near future we’re going to figure out how to make a closed circuit banana battery with hopes of lighting a small bulb.

You’re welcome world.

On ZuZu's Close Personal Friendship With a Celebrity

2011-09-16T17:22:00.000-04:00

ZuZu: Ooo! Mommy, look! You can color that Barbie's hair with marker AND wash it out.
Me: I didn't catch that.
ZuZu: Just wait. I'll roll it back {skillfully manipulating the DVR}
Me: Oh, I see. What's her name? [Meaning the title of this Barbie collection]
ZuZu: Well, Barbara, but her friends call her Barbie.

How My Day Goes From Zero To Crazy

2011-09-08T08:35:00.001-04:00

12:30 am— Facebook text from West Coast friend. Hubby’s out to sea again. Another deployment in the works.
8:00 am Local friend’s deployment extended 30 or more days. He was due back in less than three weeks.
8:30 am Invited local friend’s wife and son for dinner and condolence brownies. Begin cooking partially thawed roast in the crock-pot.
9:30 am The time-sensitive log-in Tres created for The Rooster decided to lock us out entirely.
10:30 am My daughter has forgotten how to count by tens.
11:30 am Off to the Y to try their new homeschool friendly hours.
12:10 pm Finally found someone who knew about the new homeschool friendly hours.
12:55 pm Mandatory check-out time of new friendly homeschool hours
1:00 pm Run into yet another friend who is excited to teach nutrition classes, at the Y, for free, and even if it’s only my two kids.
2:00 pm Get asked for direction and guidance on teaching fitness to homeschoolers by the Youth Sports director. He’s had the job since May, but clearly the time to ask my advice is when I have a mouthful of nuts. That’s a man for you.
2:30 pm Kids and I snack after their class and workout.
3:00 pm Pay $5.52 for a gallon of milk.
3:05 pm Eat grocery store fried chicken while driving a stick-shift because we hadn’t packed a lunch and I’m a great example of hypocrisy.
3:15 The roast smells great, but it's naked. I have vegetables to prep, brownies haven't been baked and I forgot to buy bread it’s a crock-pot, not a magic cauldron.

He Thinks My But Is Worth It

2011-08-30T13:24:00.002-04:00

I just signed up for two more workshops that aren’t until December. Each class could lead to paid employment; one for the Y and the other at the new studio. “But promises declared for days to come/are as good as none”*.

I have discussed the expense with Tres. I feel guilty about spending that kind of money on myself. I paid for years of college education, some which didn’t transfer when we did. What’s worse, I use it now to educate my own children rather than working for pay. I’m afraid this will be another esoteric adventure in naval gazing— literally. In return he asks me simple questions: “Do you need these workshops to finish your program?”

“Well… yes, but—”

“No, ‘but’. You’ve spoken to potential boss A and potential boss B? They each want someone to offer these classes?”

“Yes, but—”

“No, ‘but’. You have to do them. You could get paid to do teach others even sooner if you do them now. What are you waiting for? This isn’t a want for you. This is a need. I see that now.”

*Tracy Chapman If Not Now

Spyglass on a Marriage: Midas Touch

2011-08-26T20:19:00.000-04:00

While shopping for storm supplies, we stopped for lunch with kids at Moe’s. The kids found a seat while we ordered. It was a bit of a wait and Tres began to lovingly rub my shoulder. It was magical. Then he snapped at me.

“Shut up. Jeez, you sound like you’re having sex when I rub you.”

I blinked and blushed when I realized the group of men lunching directly behind our assembly line heard everything he just said. And the moaning.

“They didn’t know that” I giggled, “until you said something. Now they think you’re a lucky man.”

“Why? Because you make sex-noises when I rub you?”

“Well, yeah. That and you could do it when I still had my clothes on.”

A Metaphor For What I Did With My Summer

2011-08-15T11:06:00.000-04:00

A few months ago, I started knitting a blanket for my daughter. I've made them with Knifty Knitter looms, but traditional needles were a bit daunting. After fits and starts, I made some progress on the first section. Then I realized I had accidentally added stitches until my rectangular patch became a free-form polygon.

I tried to repair. I tried to back track. My inexperience led me to an unraveled mess. As the strands piled in tangles I couldn't help thinking of the temporary beauty of sand mandalas. I let it go and I have started again. If it becomes what I want it to be I will be okay to let it go. My daughter is only 6 after all, it's very likely this won't last her long. I'll be lucky if she keeps it on her bed for more than a week.