After wasting about 30 minutes of my life on this bullshit, I finally told the Tech Guru.

Fixed in 30 seconds. AND…he was TIRED. EXHAUSTED. He practically fixed my problem IN HIS SLEEP.

I LOVE THAT.

The Tech Guru, he’s our man, if HE can’t fix it, NO ONE can. (No, seriously. If he can’t fix it, just say fuck it and throw it out, for reals.)

Mr. Fucking FIX-IT, that man is, when it comes to my computer woes. I mean, honestly, it is SO DAMN AWESOME. Even that time when I threw my computer on the floor in frustration – which was one of those times when the word DIVORCE was probably rolling around in his head, if the glare he gave me was any indication – he just took a deep breath, and BOUGHT ME A NEW ONE. (Unfortunately, thanks to the superhuman strength and anger with which I hurled that fucker into the ground, even HE could not fix it.)

Then there was the time I left my computer at the airport. A new computer that he had just bought me A MONTH BEFORE.

I cried over that one, honestly, and it sent me into a total funk. Punksin was 9 months old, and I wasn’t accustomed yet to traveling with a baby, and all that baggage, and then a laptop bag on top of that. It was just way too much stuff for me to keep track of. I mean, really, half the time I can’t even find my damn PHONE, so it’s a wonder I didn’t leave Punksin at the airport along with the computer.

We got home, opened the trunk to take out the luggage, and THATS when I noticed it was missing. I hopped back in the car and drove back to the airport, a good 45 minutes away, desperately hoping that since it was like 2:00 in the morning, it MIGHT have escaped notice.

No such luck. Some lucky fuck was walking around with a new computer. And that lucky fuck was NOT ME.

What did the Tech Guru do?

He sighed. He raised his eyes to the heavens, I’m sure, in a silent prayer for strength. He may even have taken a few shots of vodka when I wasn’t looking.

But then, he turned right around…

And BOUGHT ME A NEW ONE.

Now if God would just turn me into a computer, maybe the Tech Guru could fix all the other shit that’s wrong with me.

I am excited beyond belief.

They had a family picnic for all team members the day after she was accepted and although we didn’t yet know anyone, we went. The head coach was excited and surprised that we were brave enough to come. She doesn’t know me yet. I am brave way past the point where brave becomes stupid.

And a few days after that, the intense practice schedule began. When I say intense, I speak relatively. Before, Punksin was practicing twice a week for an hour each time.

No one is getting to the goddamn Olympics swimming two hours a week.

Now, it’s four days a week. On three of those days, she swims for an hour. On the fourth day, it’s an hour and 15 minutes. Her time in the water has increased by over 100%, and the tutelage she is receiving already looks more focused. I am excited. By the time she reaches the top level, she’ll be practicing 6 days a week for 2 hours a day, including dry land workouts. LOVE IT.

Needless to say, the Tech Guru is also excited. But his excitement is annoying the shit out of me.

Every time Punksin comes out of the pool, he wants to go over it. He’s demonstrating what she SHOULD have done, what she needs to improve, blah blah blah.

Finally one day I had enough of her being drilled all the way back home and even into the house, and I said, “You know, that’s why she’s being coached.”

He was not too happy with my statement. “Well, I can still ADD something,” he retorted.

“But she has COACHES, and she just came out of the POOL. Do we need to keep going on and on about this?”

“Well, look, I’m going to talk to her about what’s she’s doing, the same way YOU talk to her and supplement her on her English work.”

And I thought, well, I guess he has somewhat of a point there, but still, it stuck in my craw. One, because I feel like after practicing for an hour 4x a week, let her get out of the pool physically AND mentally. Two, because I’m scared that he doesn’t really know what the fuck he’s talking about. What if he’s telling her stuff that’s wrong? Or what if he’s somehow fucking with the particular style and reasoning that these people are implementing? They didn’t win Junior Olympics last year for nothing. They must know what the fuck they’re doing, right? Leave it to them and shut the hell up!

And that’s when it hit me. My retort to what he said.

The next day, as we sat at her practice watching her, I said to him, “You know, I was thinking about what you said, about you coaching her in swimming and adding to what she’s doing, the same as me checking in on her school work. But…there’s a basic difference.”

I paused, and he waited.

“Me, I have a DEGREE in English, so I know what the fuck I’m talking about. You don’t swim professionally. You don’t have a DEGREE in swimming. You know how TO swim, but that doesn’t make you a coach on technique. Which is why we’re HERE.”

I tittered to myself. I mean, seriously, I could write Punksin’s 3rd grade teacher under a fucking table. She can’t touch me. But I don’t pretend I know how to coach swimmers. The Tech Guru thinks that just because he is an athlete, that he is jack-of-all-trades. He played football, basketball, and now he’s a Crossfit athlete, and I LOVE ALL OF IT. I love that he’s in shape. But he’s NOT A SWIM COACH. STOP IT.

He looked at me, sitting there smugly crocheting because I knew I had gotten the last word, and I knew that really, right at that moment, I KNEW…he just wanted to punch me in the face.*

I know that. Because if I had been him, I would have wanted to punch me in the face, not really because I’d said this shit, but because I said it A WHOLE DAY AFTER THE CONVERSATION HAD ENDED. I mean, was I desperate to have the last word or what? (See? This is what I mean about OWNING YOUR SHIT. I know this was petty, and I OWN IT. I don’t pretend it was cute or okay or it just happened. I KNOW it was PETTY. I DID IT ANYWAY, because I’m an ASS. And also because I know my husband KNOWS me enough not to take me too fucking seriously on shit like this.)

And that, that right there? That is why I love the Tech Guru. I really really do. Because he just looked at me, and although he wanted to punch me in the face, he said, you know what? This bitch is crazy, but I love her, and part of why I love her IS because she is crazy. So I’m gonna let her think whatever the fuck she needs to think right now to make her ass feel good,  and I’m gonna go back to watching my daughter swim, and when she comes out of the pool, I’m gonna say WHATEVER THE FUCK I WANT TO SAY TO HER ANYHOW.

I KNOW this. I knew it as soon as he looked back at the pool. I knew I had not WON anything. I just wanted him to not say anything to ME, and he DIDN’T. And then, when she came out of the pool, he went right on back to doing the same shit. I had made my point, and now he was making his, and no one had won shit but…we both felt okay!

Talk about understanding each other. It’s fucking AWESOME.

*DISCLAIMER: I want to be clear here to those of you that might be new or stupid enough to take most of the stuff I say too literally. When I said my husband wanted to punch me in the face, please be assured that I am speaking facetiously. My husband is not a man prone to domestic violence AT ALL. That’s not him, and it will never be him unless he develops a brain tumor or some shit that makes him act totally out of character. He would NEVER EVER EVER punch me in the face. I KNOW this. (He might slap me around a little bit, but that’s only when we’re naked. ) So please do not call the police, do not send me private messages with phone numbers of the nearest women’s shelters, do not wonder if I am dropping hints about domestic abuse. I AM NOT. Seriously, I’m okay, and HE’S okay. He is the most nurturing, tender, and loving person I know and he would never lay a hand on me that is not one of love. Now, I DO feel sorry for the people who WORK for him who don’t do things properly or efficiently, because at work he is the most intolerant son of a bitch there is. Thank God I don’t WORK for his ass. But WE are FINE. So please…work with my warped sense of humor here. I know he was mildly annoyed at me, but he brushed that shit off like most of the shit I do. Now, I, on the other hand, that might be something I would do, I have to admit that; I might actually punch someone in the face. But I’ve never had cause to do it to him, which is why we are married, because if I ever did feel like I wanted to punch him in the face, I’m thinking that’s time to start packing. But after 15 years , I don’t think it’s going to go that route. So calm down, people. CALM THE FUCK DOWN.

My precious Pudding

Today is Pudding’s birthday.

I love him so much.

Every July 4th, when we go to see fireworks, I am reminded of 2007, the year in which I heard fireworks cascading all around me as I went into labor.

Because I had had several false alarms, I thought that this most recent set of pangs was just more of the same. So I did what any sane woman in my condition would do.

I went shopping.

Yes. I was walking around in Whole Foods, talking to my aunt on the phone, and every 5 minutes or so I would stop, grab a shelf, and continue my conversation through gritted teeth. And then, I’d keep shopping.

Yes. I am a dumb ass.

You know what was even more stupid? (Yes, apparently you can get even MORE stupid than that. Or at least, I can.)

For some reason that I can only attribute to my brain being absolutely FRIED by pregnancy, I thought that I could go through the ENTIRE NIGHT like this and just call the doctor in the morning. So we all went to bed, and I sat there reading, and then I couldn’t really concentrate and I was tired, so I dozed off….

And had a contraction that OF COURSE woke me up, went on for about a minute, and then died down.

And somehow, SOMEHOW, I thought that going through an ENTIRE NIGHT of this, where I would get sleep BETWEEN CONTRACTIONS, was going to work out.

FUCKING BRILLIANT.

I can’t remember what time it was when I actually realized that these pains were not staying the same or subsiding, and that there was no way on God’s green Earth that I could go through several hours of this supposedly CHILLING out and getting sleep. Because I wasn’t really GETTING any sleep. DUH.

I do remember that it was still dark outside when we got to the hospital, so clearly morning hadn’t arrived.

It was a crazy day with other anecdotes that I’ll save for another time, but…

At 10:40 in the morning, my Pudding was born.

My little man is growing up…

I love him to pieces. He is the #1 man in my life and even the Tech Guru knows that it is so, that it MUST be so, because I cradled him for 9 months in my womb, felt him kick, tickled his foot through my skin, nursed him for 3 years (yes, 3 years and keep it to yourself if you have a problem with it, okay? For YOUR sake.) You choose your spouse but…your child is your flesh reborn. He is mine, my gift from God, in a way that only he (and Punksin) can ever be.

I love him. I look at him and he always makes me smile with his intelligent smirk, his extremely infectious laugh that never fails to start me up, his high-pitched little voice…that I record from time to time, because I know that one day, it will change…the timber will go down, down in his chest, how far only time will tell, and I hope and pray that he will always call me Mom or Mommy but I know it will be different from hearing that little high-pitched voice that always says, “Mommy?” with that little rise at the end. And he looks at me, and I know he feels safe and secure and that for now…for now and for a little while longer, I am his everything.

My love for him brings me to tears. My joy at his presence inspires my brightest smile, especially on my darkest days. God sent me His laughter through my son, so that I could laugh too. And I am so so grateful.

Happy birthday Pudding. As I tell you all the time, and I hope you never forget it, Mommy loves you to the ends of the universe…

And the end of time.

I’ve been incredibly irritable the past several days. I’m not sure if the Lexapro isn’t working so well, or what it is.

Maybe it’s the vacation I keep saying everyone else needs. Clearly I could use one myself. But I think – I think the reason I’m not looking forward to it as much as, say, The Tech Guru, is that for me, a vacation is often a case of going to a different place to do the same shit.

Cook. Clean. Take care of the kids. Except in Cancun, or St. John, or somewhere else, where I can look out over an ocean or a nice view as I STILL make breakfast or bathe Pudding or whatever. Vacations don’t change much for me. Oh sure there are some new experiences to be had, but it’s not like the Tech Guru, who does not have to go into the office or, for the most part, even think about his job unless there’s some high level of drama. My job continues…no matter where I go. I don’t get a break from it. No matter where we go, I am still doing it.

It’s terrible because I am snapping at the kids and the Tech Guru and just pretty much…unhappy. And I can’t pinpoint a reason why.

I started getting crafty again and as I was making a handbag I started thinking to myself, why am I doing this? Not in a WTF kind of way, because I do genuinely enjoy it, but just trying to be really introspective about what was compelling me to get crafty and creative again after taking a break for so long. And then it came to me…I feel like I have to create…

In order to avoid destroying.

It’s like I’m trying to counter-act something inside of me that feels…destructive. Self-destructive. And by creating things and putting things that are hopefully some small bits of beauty, not only am I keeping my hands and brain busy but I am avoiding something that is…bad.

I have to think about this more in order to verbalize it clearly but I knew, as those thoughts coursed through my head, that there was truth in them. That somehow, I am trying to keep myself from descending again into depression. And although it is clearly NOT working in totality, it is helping, somewhat.

But not a lot. And whatever balm I am getting from this creative bent, seems to be decreasing.  I think it’s why I want to attack the house projects with such vigor. It’s like…needing more drugs or something. Just making a scarf isn’t enough. Now, I want to retile the fireplace and redo the front steps and do something big and ridiculous that I can engross myself in.

What I want to singlehandedly do to my house

I’m not sure what the next steps are.

Stay tuned.

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