Momma O.'s Musings

Rapist Brock Turner Case

2016-06-11T16:04:00.000-04:00

I have written a lot on this, none of it is legible or understandable. My rage filled rants about rape culture, double standards and white priveledge are not fit to print. This is the best I could do.

The victim of the rapist, Brock Turner, wrote a very poignant and moving letter to him. It is long but should be read in its entirety. She put into words what too many have felt and dealt with in the past and will continue to deal with in the future. There were a few sentences that hit me hard.

“According to him, the only reason we were on the ground was because I fell down. Note; if a girl falls down help her get back up. If she is too drunk to even walk and falls down, do not mount her, hump her, take off her underwear, and insert your hand inside her vagina. If a girl falls down help her up. If she is wearing a cardigan over her dress don’t take it off so that you can touch her breasts. Maybe she is cold, maybe that’s why she wore the cardigan.”

Then I read the words of his parents and I see why he feels entitled. I can not even dignify their letters to the judge with a comment. I tried but I can't. Then I read his words. (That happened to change between the day after the rape and the year after the rape.) He blamed “college campus drinking culture and the sexual promiscuity that goes along with that.” WHAT?

Promiscuous is defined as: not restricted to one sexual partner
or

having or involving many sexual partners.

Promiscuity is very different from rape. Rape is assaulting another person with your body or an object and forcing penetration. Rape is a crime. Whether a rapist or the victim of rape is promiscuous is beside the point. There is no correlation. There is no connection. For example I could be having random sex with many partners, but the minute someone forces me to have sex with them, that is rape.

Even if having sex is something I enjoy doing.

Even if sex is something I have enjoyed doing with that person.

If I don't want to have sex with them, then they cannot force me, because that is rape, which is a crime.

The best way I have seen this explained is the tea, analogy. It is perfect.

http://metro.co.uk/2015/10/28/this-new-sexual-consent-and-tea-video-from-the-police-is-brilliant-5466392/

The ridiculous argument that, she does not remember so how do we know she didn’t consent, is so ridiculous because of the 2 men who pulled him off of a naked and unconscious woman while he was raping her! She was unconscious. No consent can be given when she is unconscious. And let’s just say for the sake of an equally ridiculous argument, that she did consent and THEN became unconscious. THEN, HE SHOULD HAVE STOPPED THE MINUTE SHE BECAME UNCONSCIOUS. If two bicycle riders could see that she was unconscious he really should have been aware of it, since he was on top of her! This is all beside the point because he was convicted. But this argument was used in the defenses' case.

In most rape cases, there are many that put the owness on the victim. Believing that because of their actions they are raped, because of their actions they deserve to be raped, because of their actions they got what was coming to them. This needs to stop.

If a promiscuous guy goes out with his friends, gets drunk, and then gets raped would anyone say the same thing? NO! And they shouldn't because he did nothing wrong. Why should it be different with women? Why does being promiscuous and getting drunk get women raped and not men? (This is not to say that this has not happened to men. Nor is it to diminish the trauma of this happening to a man.) If a man gets raped, is he going to be questioned as to what he was wearing, or how drunk he was, or about his sexual history, or what signals he was sending?

It’s exhausting that this even needs to be explained. Women are not the gatekeepers of virtuousness. Women are not the bastions of sexual morality. Women are not responsible for the actions of the men around them. Just as men are not uncontrollable sexual animals. Men are not void of human decency or incapable of being virtuous. Men have complete control over their own bodies and minds.

Why is the standard set for men so low and the standard set for women so high? How about we all do what we want with our own bodies and hold responsible, those who hurt other’s bodies? It seems pretty simple.

We can not allow society to treat rape victims as an after-thought. The judge in the case against rapist Brock Turner, gave him a sentence that would be laughable if it weren't for the fact that it’s not a joke to the victim.

Rapist Brock Turner was sentenced to 6 MONTHS at a county jail and is eligible to get out in 3 months. That is a summer camp. He will be out before Labor Day. This judge, Aaron Perksy, just so happens to believe that, “A prison sentence would have a severe impact on him … I think he will not be a danger to others.” (unless you are an unconscious woman.) Perksy cited Turner’s age and lack of criminal history as factors in his decision. Yes, let us send the message that the first rape is just a practice one and shouldn't be punished too severely. Let’s not impact the rapists life with prison on the first try.

One of the most disheartening things is that after 12 jurors UNANIMOUSLY convicted this rapist on all three counts against him. He still has no remorse. He has no culpability. He still wants to blame alcohol and lose women! He is NOT SORRY FOR RAPING AN UNCONSCIOUS WOMAN. And now, thanks to Judge Persky, he has no just punishment for the crime of which he was convicted, and shows no remorse for committing.

Is there an answer here? Is there a solution? I wish there was.

My Best Friend's Eulogy

2016-05-27T21:02:00.000-04:00

We were about 5 and 4 (I am older) and we would go into our neighbors beautiful rock garden that had all these different colored pebbles and stones. We would love to play with them, mixing the colors and messing up the pattern he so meticulously planned. We would then take handfuls of the pebbles and put them in his bird bath. Playing and splashing each other with the slimy water. We climbed the tree of our other neighbors house to see in the birdhouse that was up there. There is always the argument of who actually knocked it out of the tree and broke it. No one will ever know.

We were about 13 and 12. We were going to the Springfield mall. This was something we did a lot. There are 2 trolleys that go the same way. One was the 101 to Media, which is the one that stops at the mall and the other was the 102 to Sharron Hill. We were waiting at the stop and the 102 pulls in. She promptly got up to get on. I very matter-of-factly said that that was the wrong one. She rolled her eyes at me and said that both trolleys went to the mall. We argued in front of the open trolley door and she proceeded to get on the trolley, knowing that I would never let her get on and ride by herself. As we sat on the trolley, I am pleading the facts of the case. She never let facts get in her way, though. She was only convinced when the trolley came to its final stop and the driver walked back to us and said, “You 2 have to get off now.”

We were 14 and 13 and she had a plan that we would steal my parents car under the cover of night and go for a joy ride. I was all for it until I realized that the plan had a few flaws. We were able to get permission for her to sleep over. We tried to figure out how we would start the car without it being heard. She said we could just put it in neutral and push it down the driveway until we got it into the street. Then there was the problem of getting the car out of the garage, but even before that problem we had the problem of getting out of the house. My mother was no dummy. She probably knew, or was always on alert, that when we were together and had too much time on our hands, there was going to be something mischievous going on. When it was about 2am we got dressed and snuck out of my room. That is when I started to panic. Wait! This is MY parents car. She wanted me to drive, yet I don’t have a license. If this all went down and we got caught, I would be assuming all the risk. She would just be, along for the ride, literally. I started to plead my case to Alexis. She used every trick she could. She tried reasoning that we could never get caught. She tried saying that we never did anything really fun or daring and needed stories to tell about ourselves, when we got older. Then she pulled the “I knew you would never go through with this.” “chicken” card. When that didn’t work, she tried to appeal to my mothering nature by saying she would just do it without me — knowing full well I would have been a wreck if she got hurt. The scheme ended, abruptly. We had been arguing so much that we woke up my mom who, dog tired, came downstairs and told us if we didn’t get back upstairs and in bed, she would take Alexis home right that instant. Alexis was furious with me. She did not understand my hesitation. I was almost as stubborn as she and pleaded the facts of my case. She never let facts get in the way though.

There were many other stories of when we were in our teens and 20s. most of which are probably not appropriate for telling in church. Some may have involved illegal substances between her garages. Some may have involved an after hours club called The Black Banana in Philadelphia. Some may have involved an Irish pub in London on St. Pattys day. Some definitely involved trips down the shore. But all of the stories seemed to follow the same pattern. Grand idea’s followed by my second guessing and her pleading and ultimate trouble. And in-between all of that was a lot of fun.

This was part of her lure. She pushed the boundaries and when I joined her as a partner in crime, she was overjoyed. Giddy and so happy. I loved seeing her happy. We had fun and laughs. Lots of laughs.

She was really smart. Not normal-smart but advanced-smart, on-a-different-plain smart. She graduated Magna Cum Laude from Loyola University. She won awards for her journalism at The Daily Record. Things started to change. As most of us, when we are in our late 20s, things start to come together. She was very put together on the outside. Great job, fun times with friends, young, beautiful and a career she loved. But her mind was not put together. She was trying to self-medicate and fix it on her own. She was in denial of it at first and then conceded.

She got help and her parents took care of her and her illness. It is not a simple solution though. Some drugs work and others don't, some doctors are great and some are horrible. Some rehabs help and others hurt. Sometimes you find the right combo of drugs and therapy and you are good. Until you are not. She fought the battle to find the piece that was missing inside her. The PEACE. She needed quiet and peace and her brain did not allow that. There was constant whirring and thoughts and plans and schemes and lists and they all fell on top of her and she was drowning, for so many years. She struggled and fought. Clare and Nick were in the trenches with her. They did everything in their power, every day, to help her. There is no guide. There are medical professionals who are educated in mental health and they were not able to help her either. She knew this and she needed peace.

When a person has heart disease or cancer, and they try different therapies and different medications and ultimately do not make it, is there ever a question as to why? No, not really. Diseases kill, mental illness is no different. There but for the grace of God I go. I have mental illness. I was diagnosed with clinical depression at the age of 26. I am on medication and may be for the rest of my life. I still see a therapist and am acutely aware of the signs of upcoming panic attacks and anxiety. There is a part of me that still thinks that makes me weak. But when I look at the will and perseverance it took for Alexis to go on every day, I see nothing but strength. Her final act was not one of selfishness. She did not do it to force guilt. She did all that she could and it was time for her to move on. She and I shared a lot of the same beliefs in the after life. Knowing that what is to come next is going to be an adventure. I keep asking her to reach out to me and see if she is able to cross over from the other side to communicate with me. I know she will and I am sure she will try to convince me to do something fun and a little reckless.

No, no! The adventures first, explanations take such a dreadful time.”

― Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass

Pants On Fire

2015-10-16T22:09:00.000-04:00

“But it’s a lie. That note is a lie.”

I was surprised to see him standing there. He wasn’t supposed to be up for another hour.

I was explaining to his very reasonable and understanding 12 year old brother that I put a note in his backpack saying that he was sick the day before. So if anyone asked just go along with it.

“But we weren’t sick. We were in Altoona,” Little One chimes in.

The 12 year old rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but mom will get in trouble for keeping us out of school, so we are just saying we were sick!” He then looks at me and says “You know I already told some of my teachers that I probably was going to miss yesterday, right?”

Damn-it. No I did not know this, because I didn’t even know that I was definitely keeping them out of school that day. And it was ONE day. I had already lectured them on the responsibility of making up for that day, by doing extra work. Uhhhgggg!

Lets step back a couple of months. It was August. My birthday just passed and it was a nice Summer day. We spent the weekend at the shore with my parents and some good friends. I asked The Hub what he wanted to do for his birthday in October. We thought of the cool weather and changing leaves if the next season. He said he wanted to take the boys to see Horseshoe Curve in Altoona, PA.

Really? I thought. Altoona? Trains? Altoona? It shouldn’t have been a surprise. He is a train/history geek and our boys are following in his footsteps. They get pretty damn excited to see trains and when they see his excitement it just takes the experience to a whole other level.

OK, Altoona it is. I researched on Trip Advisor and found a very reasonable Microtel that included breakfast. The prices were good, but then again, it’s Altoona. Who wants to go to Altoona? Oh right, we do. That is why I booked it.

The weekend weather was not hospitable. We drove up after school on Friday. The ride is about 4 hours, give or take. The plan was to view the changing colors of the leaves and the beauty of the Allegheny Mountains. It poured. It was approximately 48 degrees and rained off and on from the time we left the boys’ schools on Friday until late Sunday afternoon. The mountains were extremely foggy. Like can’t-see-your-hand-in-front-of-your-face-let-alone-pretty-leaves, foggy.

This did not deter the train-spotting or the Railroader’s Museum or the famous Horseshoe Curve (which we went to see TWICE) or the Allegheny Portage Railroad National Park and Museum, or the Gallitzin Tunnel or the Rail-fan’s Overlook. We did all these things, umbrellas in hand and giddy smiles on their faces. I was along and smiling, but would sometimes retreat to the car for a little respite.

I mean HOW MANY FUCKING TRAINS DOES ONE NEED TO SEE? The horseshoe curve was pretty neat, but it was cold and rainy BOTH times we went. They HAD to wait to see more trains.

OK, I promised myself I was not going to be cynical or dampen their enthusiasm. I was happy to see them so happy. I did really enjoy how excited they all got and how geeked-out they were over everything train or history related. I mean how many guys would want to spend their birthday taking their kids to see sites? The Hub is a great dad and a wonderful person all together. If he wanted Altoona, by God, Altoona it was! My love for them was the only thing driving my ass up there.

That leads us to the decision making process. The weather was not fun, however the forecast called for a clearing up on Sunday evening and a beautiful crisp 60 degree, sunny, Monday. We made the executive decision to keep the kids out of school on Monday and to wind our way home via a very scenic route, to enjoy the leaves and beautiful early-fall weather.

“But it is a lie. The note is a lie.” Little One repeats. First grade is a big deal and he takes it very seriously. He loves his teacher. LOVES her.

“I know, buddy. I am sorry. You are right, I shouldn’t lie. You don’t have to do anything, just hand the note to your teacher,” I said.

Little One looked at me like he always does when he is on to me, “The lie note?”

I looked back “Yes, the lie note. Do you want waffles for breakfast?”

He ate his breakfast and was off to school.

When he got home I asked him how his day went. He responded that it was a good day. I tentatively asked if he gave his teacher the note.

He very matter of factly said, “Yes, and I told her that you lied. I told her it was a lie note.”

I looked at my husband who looked back at me and we just stared at each other. The Hub asked him, “Well, what happened?”

He said, “Well, I didn’t give her the note right away. I just told her that my mom wrote a note that I was sick yesterday but that is a lie, because I wasn’t sick. I was in Altoona. She said thank you but she still needed to see the note. So I gave it to her. I gave her the lie note.”

I was simultaneously, proud, mortified and exhausted. Little One then went into the living room to watch SpongeBob. The Hub and I looked at each other and cracked the hell up. I mean I can’t fault the kid for telling the truth. I can’t fault him for calling me out to his teacher. So I decided to send the teacher an e-mail.

Luckily she is a very kind woman. Luckily she found the humor in his calling me out along with the humor of my mea culpa e-mail. Luckily she explained that she understood my keeping him out of school that day and that his education does not only take place in those four walls. She also told me that he used the Horseshoe Curve in one of he writing projects that day!

At least I am raising someone who believes in honesty and integrity even when his mother is a liar. I must be doing something right! Right?

It’s all good though, I was paid back. The First Born who was all too happy to lie, threw up. On the bus. On the way to school. That very day. So I had to go up to his school to pick him up before school even started. He is still complaining about all the work he missed being out 2 days in a row.

Moral of the story, don’t lie. And if you do, make sure at least one of your kids calls you out. It’s better for everyone.

Privilege

2015-08-11T11:50:00.001-04:00

When I wake up in the morning, I do not have to think about my skin color.

When buy makeup, I do not have to go to a special store.

When I buy hair products I do not have to go to a special section of the store.

When I go to a hair dresser I do not have to find one who can do "my kind of hair."

When I get my boys dressed, I do not have to think about their skin color and if what they are wearing makes them look threatening.

When I go out the door I do not have to worry about how I will be perceived due to the way I look.

When my boys go to school I do not have to worry that other children will be frightened by them or will exclude them because of how they look.

When my husband leaves the house I do not have to worry about him being pulled over for no other reason than being the wrong color in the wrong neighborhood.

When I go shopping I can aimlessly wonder the isles without having to worry that someone will assume that I am going to steal something.

When my boys act out in school, I can be assured that the teacher will contact me to discuss the problem, not call the police.

When my husband is on a job site and managing the work, he will not be second guessed or thought of as cocky or uppity when he tells people what to do.

If I get pulled over for no good reason, for say, changing lanes without using a turn signal, and I am frustrated and running late and have an attitude, I will not have to worry about that officer illegally forcing me out of my car and arrest me for resisting arrest.

When my boys go out at night with their friends, I do not have to worry that they will be targeted and harassed because of what they look like.

When my boys go to college and do something stupid, like get drunk or get into a fight, I will worry, but will not have to worry that they will be beaten or killed by law enforcement.

When my boys apply for a job, they will not be prejudged when sitting down to the interview.

When my husband and I walk into a restaurant we will not be the only people who look like us.

When I walk into a supermarket, school building, dollar store, movie theater, church or out my front door, I will not be the only person who looks like I do, nor will I be noticed at all.

When I speak my mind, When I speak my truth, When I tell my story, I will not be second guessed, questioned, and responded to by being told that racism or what I have experienced does not exist anymore. I will not be told that I am antagonizing or “dividing.” I will not be told that I need to rise above it. I will not be told that others have had it just as bad.

That, my friends, is privilege.

While I love and support my black brothers and sisters, I will never know what it is like to walk in their shoes. While I support #BlackLivesMatter I can not begin to feel it. This is not putting myself or my experiences down. This is not discounting my struggles as a woman. This is not discounting my struggles when I was poor. This is not dishonoring all that I have done or overcome to be where I am. This is just, very simply, trying to understand the culture of America and what others have and continue to deal with and hoping that others can do the same.

I Am Famous!

2015-07-10T17:03:00.000-04:00

Here is the link to the Listen To Your Mother YouTube channel. LTYM Baltimore

I was in their show in May of this year. I was part of an amazing group of women writers who read their words to a live audience.

All of us came from different backgrounds, different ethnicities, different ages, different stages of life and yet we all connected in a profound and beautiful way. Each of their stories is relatable and beautiful. Some - like mine - are funny, some are heart wrenching, some are complex and some are extraordinarily simple. All are truth. We are all connected in so many ways.

The show itself is a tapestry that flows from one story to another. I would really suggest that you watch it all the way through. I love these women and have bonded with them on a deep level. I consider them sisters and friends. Please listen to their words. Hear their truths. Be inspired by their strength.

Momma O

What Is Best (For my son...When he graduates..... In 2022)

2015-06-16T15:20:00.000-04:00

“I know!”

“I KNOW!”

You have been telling me that since you were 9.

You didn't know, but you learned. I would tell you important things and each time you were convinced that I did not know what I was talking about. There were many times that you were correct. I really didn’t know what I was talking about. There were many times that I told you what you needed to know and prayed that you figured out the rest. As our first born son, you really got screwed. We had no clue what parenthood entailed or involved. We were all learning together. Hopefully you learned as much as we did along the way.

You watched your father and I, and learned all of our bad habits. You learned that a bathroom can go almost 2 weeks without being cleaned. You learned that a “dinner” can mean a bowl of cereal and an ice-cream sundae. You learned that after a bad day nothing tastes better than a beer or two. You learned that stress sometimes makes people say dumb things. You learned that lying can sometimes be ok. You learned that you can get away with spending an entire day in your jammies watching movies and eating junk food. You learned that calling out “You cock-sucking, mother-fucker!” is only reserved for inanimate objects that my have caused you physical pain i.e. stepped on legos or road rage. You learned that you can procrastinate and still get things done.

But despite all that, hopefully you learned other things from us. If you were paying attention you may have learned that laughing helps most situations. You learned that love makes people sacrifice without complaint. You learned that complaints can be therapeutic. You learned that therapy is a good thing. You learned that it is important not to stay mad. You learned that everyone puts in their fair share, but not all at the same time. You learned that family is the most important thing in the world. You also learned that family does not always mean related-by-blood. You learned that just because you disagree with someone does not mean that you don’t like them. AND just because you agree with someone doesn’t mean you have to like them.

We were not perfect parents and even less perfect teachers. We want so much for you. But the most important thing that we want is for you to be happy. We have tried to show you how to be happy, even knowing that is not something you can "teach" someone else. I have my own version of happy, and your father has his. We have another version of happy together. It takes some work to find happy and even more work to find happy with someone else. Personal happiness is something that changes, grows and evolves. We will always be working towards it.

So when I say I want you to be happy, that requires some work on your part. You must remember that you deserve to be happy. You must strive to help others in their own pursuit. You also have to remember that even though it may seem distant at times, it is right there inside you.

You are going to make mistakes and misjudgments. I am still doing that, and I am OLD! Your young mistakes and misjudgments will impact your life, but no matter, you will always have your father and I for a soft place to land. Even if you post those mistakes on YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, or whatever other social media site there is. We will still be there for you to land, but I can’t promise it will be soft. And when I say “land” it just means that you can get some hugs and possibly some sympathy and a place to "reset". We will not fix your mistakes. Because we won’t. Even if you want us to. We will have to stop ourselves and trust that we have prepared you. It will kill us to watch you struggle. But we will stand behind you even when we know you are headed in the wrong direction. You will figure it out. You will and you will become better for it.

I know that “you know” most of this. I want to make sure that when you walk out of this house into your own life, you also know that nothing in this world could ever make us not love you. Unconditional. Constant. Evolving. Love.

The process of birth is so much a metaphor for life. I know you love when I talk about your birth story. You were stuck in my uterus and had to be taken out by an emergency c-section. I think about that and how your dad and I were so scared and stressed. But you knew what to do. You waited. You were patient. For 22 hours until the doctor said you were starting to get agitated. At that point they were wheeling me in for the c-section. A c-section was NOT in my birth plan. As a matter of fact NONE of those previous 22 hours were in my birth plan. So at that point I was willing to do anything the doctors and nurses told me. Including having a c-section, while they reversed my epidural because of my convulsions in response to it. But somehow you knew that your big-ass head was never going to fit through my vagina. (That is funny, because I know, right now, you are cringing and saying "Jesus, MOM!" I have to get my laughs in sometime!)

So, I thank you. I thank you for not following my plan. It was better for both of us in the long run. You left my body the way you needed to. Now you will leave our house the way you need to. You have always pursued your passions with your own gusto and originality. If you continue in that vain, you will be just fine. We only want what is best for you. What is best for you. What is best for you?

I can year you now.

“I know.”

Momma's Frustrations of Daily Life

2015-01-22T14:56:00.001-05:00

7 Things that frustrate me daily - in no particular order.

1). Sitting. I just want to sit down, for over 20 minutes without having to get up. As SOON as I sit down, someone needs something. Whether it is a cup of water or a snack or a shoe tied, or a Minecraft emergency, or even a “but I wanna sit there” complaint. It seems like a conspiracy hatched by the kids, the dog, The Hub and even my own bladder. None of these factors in my life will allow me to be uninterrupted for an extended period of time. And by ‘extended’ I mean over 15 minutes.

2). My face. It is looking older and older. I FaceTime with my little brother who lives in Hawaii. (Yea, I know!) And I am overly distracted by the little ichat box with my talking face in it. It looks old and haggard and saggy and old. The wrinkles aren't that bad, but the saggy, baggy neck, chin and jowls are upsetting. Should humans have jowls? Also the bags under my eyes are super puffy and the some of the freckles are running into each other. I am only 42, but I see what 72 may look like, pretty clearly!

C). Homework. I am sick of the homework. My 11 year old’s 5th grade homework is enough to have me hate school all over again. It is time consuming and tricky. He is sloppy and rushes through everything. So I have to be the ogre and have him re-do it so that a human being from this century can read it. He does not seem to learn that if he rushes through to get it done quick, it is only going to take him 3 times as long to finish. I have said it before, I don’t know how his teachers have not throttled him as of yet. Is there anything less logical and more pig headed than an 11 year old boy?

You like me, you really like me!

D). My social media problem. Notice I did not say addiction. I am not ready to go that far. I can stop any time I want to. It hasn't interfered with.... OMG I just got a comment "liked" by Jenn Mann of People I Want To Punch In The Throat! No Way! Where was I? I know. I will just keep rowing down that river in Egypt. I like it. I am a social person, and I like the perceived notion that people actually listen to me. Even if it is just a Facebook “like” or a re-tweet. No one listens to me in my real life but they do on my computer. Look, you are listening to me right now! Wait, wait, don’t go. Let me entertain you!

Sub-paragraph Q). Cooking. I actually love cooking. I enjoy creating meals and having them all come together. I enjoy putting it on the table and looking at my feast. I love serving the plates and taking that first bite after savoring the smells. If it were only that simple. The creating of the meals is interrupted continuously. I forget my overall vision for the meal. Then the complaints start before I finish.

i.e.

“What are we having?” (said in an incriminating and volatile tone)

“I don’t WANT that for dinner!”

“I HATE (insert here: any food item that I am currently cooking)!”

“But I am STARVING and I don’t like any of that stuff.”

“You NEVER make anything I like!”

“Honey, isn't that (insert here: pan of food he has never cooked in his life) on too high?”

“Do we have any (insert here: something we don’t have and wouldn’t go with the meal anyway)?”

“Why did you make it that way?”

“Is this your own creation or did you follow a recipe?”

Then we sit down to the table, that no one seemed to remember how to set, and I am hopping up and down like a bunny getting all the things that were forgotten, like a fork, the butter, salt and pepper, cups for drinks, said drinks, napkins, etc. Then after all the complaints - and I have inhaled a cold dish of food - the clean up process starts. I HATE cleaning up after I have cooked. HATE IT. I am a messy cooker. But it is usually a toss up of cleaning the kitchen or doing the bedtime routine. As much as I hate cleaning up, I will choose cleaning up, every time!

Z). Sleeping. I need a night. Now it is not nearly as bad as it was when the kids were babies. I am not that sleep deprived. I shouldn’t even complain about it…. Ok for all of you parents of babies out there, I won’t. I won’t dare complain, because I am still getting about 6 hours more sleep than you are!

6). My Body. I don’t care much about how she is looking lately. She can be covered up and disguised with clothing, but I do care how she feels. That is pretty crappy! Knees cracking, elbows popping, shoulders aching, back straining and ass dragging! It has to do with age… and eating improperly… and lack of exercise…. and weight, but I am going with blaming it all on age.

VII). Laundry. OH Sweet Love of all that is Holy, I hate the laundry. I hate everything about it. The sorting. The fishing dirty, little underwear out of dirty, little pants that are inside out. The dirty, little balls of stinky socks. The super-stinky basketball clothes. The pre-pubescent stench of the 5th graders clothes. The soaking wet towels thrown in the laundry on top of and underneath more gross clothes, that sat for days. Loading the machine then forgetting to change it over to the dryer. Then having to rewash the mildew smelling load again. Ugh! The folding and putting away that NEVER gets done. Then looking at the hamper and seeing it is full again and always for ever and ever, Amen!

It can be daunting, mundane and tedious, but I read this and then kind of hate myself. WTF do I really have to complain about? So what are your frustrations? Are they as meaningless as mine?

We Came, We Saw, We Quit Our Membership

2015-01-09T19:50:00.000-05:00

Yea, Yea, Yea, I know! You hate all of us non-fit, newly resolved, noncommittal types who just committed to your gym. The gym you go to every other day no matter what.

We are taking your parking spaces, we are taking your equipment. We are taking up all the space at the front of your exercise class. We don’t know where we are going or what time anything starts. We look overwhelmed and at the same time cocky because we are now ‘going to the gym’ and ‘getting in shape.’ Finally! Something that you have been doing for years.

What makes us so special? We now act like we own the place. We forget to wipe up our funk off of the stair-stepper after our grueling 20 minutes. Only 20 minutes and we look like we just took a dip in the pool. You see, we sweat so profusely because this is the most movement we have had since we had to run into McDonalds from the parking lot when they screwed up our drive-in order.

Some of us start a program that we were able to do 10-15 years ago, like no time has passed. Only after, realizing that a lot of fucking time has passed! Some of us just walk into the fitness room and jump from machine to machine, pretending that we know what we are doing and then get bored. Some of us start a fitness class with other newbies and realize that it is not as easy to walk out in the middle of class when everyone can see you leave.

Just be patient. It won’t last long. Mid February, maybe early March, we should be clearing out soon enough. A few of us will inflict an injury - on ourselves. A couple may even provide some excitement being taken out on stretchers!

Instead of getting mad at us and cursing our brand new work out clothes with matching bag, sneakers, and headband, try to have some pity. We really don’t know what we are doing. We may act like we are ready for the workout routine. But we are not. We may act as if we love going to the gym. But we don’t. We may try to keep up with the crazy spin lady. But we can’t.

There are some who will find that fun. Find that spark that will light their ass on fire. Then they will love going to the gym. Some will start to feel really good and realize how healthy they are feeling. They will actually look forward to their work-out. Be kind, because some of those will be here the rest of the year!

But the rest of us, in all reality, are scared, miserable and tired. We don’t like working out. We don’t want to get off the couch. We hate seeing all you svelte committed exercisers, rolling your eyes at us. Our motivation to start getting in

shape is usually a vane one - just so we don’t have to buy the next size up - just so we can eat a few pieces of pie and not look 5 months pregnant. Is that too much to friggin' ask? However, vanity will not be enough to keep us motivated. We will search for a better motivation. But what-the-fuck-ever! We won’t last. We never do. We will skip a week and then 2 weeks and then 3 months will have gone by and we will cancel our membership. That is…. until the open enrollment is offered next January!

Until next year.

Growing Pains

2015-01-08T16:00:00.000-05:00

The holidays bring out the best and worst in me. I was an absolute mess before Christmas. The planning, the spending, the worrying about the debt-ing, all made me an emotional mess. Oh and did I mention that our house is up for sale, and we have to have the house “show-ready?” That combined with memories of Christmases gone by and the reality that my boys are not babies or even toddlers anymore. They are getting bigger and this, or the next Christmas may be the last ones that they “believe” in Santa. When that happens, a certain magic will be lost.

It seems that we try to hold on to a piece of the past — no matter if it is healthy or not — and the holidays give us the opportunity to do that. Baking what our grandmothers baked, putting decorations up that remind us of our childhood, trying to recreate experiences that we had as children for our own children.

The trick is not losing ourselves in the past, not succumbing to the old ways that we used to use to survive. There are roles we played as children that can be carried into adulthood that no longer serve our best interests.

My goal as a mother is to make the roles of my boys good ones, to allow and even facilitate the changing of those roles as they grow. I know I am going to be a major topic in their future therapy sessions. I can’t escape that, but I want to mitigate the damage. I want to - for lack of a better term - not pass my neurotic shit on to them. I want their lives to be about them and what they want and need, not what I want for them.

My personal struggles have been fighting my own narcissistic tendencies and my need for validation, control and attention. Well the attention thing may be out of the question, because well…. blog about ME! But I am learning that I can validate myself. Control is something that I am learning to let go of, one white knuckle at a time.

I am finding it easier to see my role as a mother as one of a guide and not a leader. A behind the scenes coach and support system rather than a director. This is needed as they are becoming older. Lil One is only 6 and I can still bask in the glow of his cuteness and cuddle-me-ness and his looking to me as the one with all the right answers. He is a smart cookie and so easy going, and I may be able to hold on to that for another couple of years.

But First born has been discovering himself apart from us. It is exciting and frightening to watch. First Born is 11 and I have started the transition into someone who really does not know anything. I am the one to be tested and argued with at any cost. My natural urge is to fight this. But I am realizing that that will not help. I have to let him make mistakes. I have to let him fall. I have to make sure that I validate his feelings, even when I think that he is being rid-god-damn-diculous and overly dramatic. I have to allow that to happen. If I fight it, I fight him. He has enough angst and frustration, I don’t want to play the lead role. I am also realizing that he still needs the hugs and cuddles that I give Little One. He leans into me when I am going over his homework. He lets me fix his hair in the morning and still gives me a kiss goodnight. I have to be welcoming to that for as long as he still needs it. I have to not push when I go to give him a hug and he backs away and only does the one-arm-patting-the-back thing. I need to give him his space and allow him to grow.

It is so hard and so emotional! So much more emotional than I thought it would be. There are times, especially during the holidays, when I ache for First Born to be that little wiry monkey who would fly into my arms and tell me - with his speech impediment - ‘Momma I yuve you soon much.’ I miss when he would pat the floor next to him and say, ‘Momma, you pway dis twuck and I pway dat twuck.’ I daydream of the nights spent on his rocking chair in his room, when he would tell me what songs he wanted me to sing to him before bed. I would sing and his sweet little voice would join with mine on the parts that he knew. I miss that little guy. I miss the role I played. I miss how good I felt being able to comfort and fix all of his problems with a hug and a kiss. At 11 he still needs me but in a way that I have to learn. The early years came naturally. These years are going to need some research and patience. The roles are changing.

Everything is new but we are the same. Can we change? Is it possible that we don’t change but become more of ourselves as we improve? When we were born, were we wired as perfect beings and then life happens, parents happen, mistakes happen and our wiring is short circuited, then re-wired? Are the improvements we make actually working our way back to our original “wiring?”

I sit here typing this with tears running down my face. I know that growing pains are as much about what we as parents go through as it is for our children. I realize that growing never stops and I have to continue my growth as a mom. I have to figure out the next stage and allow my sons to figure it out as well. I can’t scoop them up in my arms and tell them “Momma’s got you, baby. Everything is gonna be all right,” and expect that to work. I am going to have to find something that makes me feel as good as when I could still do that. How do you find that? How can I get that back? Am I supposed to get that back? How do you come to the realization that that part of your mothering role has been played and is done? How do you look back on that and smile with pride instead of cry with longing?

When I looked at my sons when they were first born, I knew in my heart and soul that they were perfect beings, full of love and abundance. Their lives are a wonderful journey back to that love and abundance. They will go through highs and lows, beauty and pain, joy and failure and I will be there. I look forward to being there in the background, always there with a soft place to land when they need it. In the meantime I will still be on my own wonderful journey learning and playing the roles I need to play. Someday making it back to my own original wiring and returning to me.

Momma's Ode to the Day After Christmas

2014-12-26T13:44:00.001-05:00

Twas the day after Christmas

and all through the day

we were all so very tired

no one wanted to play

We sat in our pj's

and super-comfy blankets

watched movies and napped

and ate lots of cheese-its

No meals to be planned

no tables to set

no decorating to be done

no more gifts to get

We bask in the glow

of the fun day before

of family and friends

and yummy food galore

We thought of those

who were not with us this year

and those far away

whom we still hold very dear

This day is not productive

nor is it meant to be

we are content to watch the lights

on yesterday’s Christmas tree

Life will crank back up

and tomorrow will come quick

so we sit on our butts

and another movie we will pick

And we exclaim to the kids

as we drift off to bed

Enjoy your christmas gifts

but don't let them go to your head

From our family to yours

there is one more thing to say

relax and enjoy you and yours

on this day after Christmas Day!

Enough

2014-09-24T15:09:00.000-04:00

She is a real bitch. She doesn’t like me very much. She tells me that I am a fake; that I am lazy and inadequate. She makes sure I know that I am never going to be enough.

She calls me dramatic and overly sensitive. She criticizes the way I parent, the way I dress, the way I keep my house, and my marriage. She tells me that I am dumb, but pretend to be smart. She sees right through me. She knows my weaknesses and actively uses them against me. Being a “ditz” is something that I fear, and she makes sure I feel like a ‘ditz’ most days.

She catches me being a lazy parent and letting them watch just one more show, sets her off. Even though I hide from her, she always catches me eating when I am not supposed to be. I think that she is sleeping late at night when I sneak to the kitchen and devour something sweet. But when I turn around she is right there, marching me back up the stairs and making me stand on the scale to see the damage I am doing. She looks at the clock and tells me that I am lazy because if I just work a little harder, I could make it to the gym AND do the laundry. But I have no discipline.

She looks at my husband and tells me that he could never really love a woman as lazy and dependent as me. He stays because he is a good man and would not want to hurt the kids. But any time he is away from me he is much happier. She assures me that when he tells me that he loves me, or hugs me that he is only trying to “get some.” She makes sure I know that when he does nice things for me it is because he wants me to do nice things for him in return.

She lets me know that when my children are acting out or misbehaving, it is directly because of me and my lazy parenting. When people compliment my children she makes me aware that they only act nice around other people, because they don’t like being with me.

She makes me question everyone’s motives, constantly. She is so toxic and debilitating. When I am struggling with depression or anxiety she is the happiest, and makes me believe that I am damaged beyond repair. She loves being in control but criticizes me for being a control freak.

Every once in a while she makes me feel a little superior by pointing out other peoples’ bad behavior. But when I try to have sympathy for those people, she calls me weak and a pushover.

She points out my wrinkles, my saggy breasts, my stretch marks, the bags under my eyes, my hair, my face. She makes sure I put my Spanx on every day, so no one else can see my muffin top.

When I do get to the gym to work out, she is a little weaker but then she makes me feel guilty for focusing so much on myself and tells me I am vain and self centered. If I need time alone or away from the kids, she is right there with me the entire time, telling me that I don’t deserve to be a mother.

She makes me spend money telling me that that will make me feel better and then criticizes me for going into debt. She is strong.

But I am stronger. She cannot make me feel ‘less-than’ anymore. She will NOT control me.

I am enough just as I am.

I am enough even on my bad days. I am not afraid of her. She has been my companion for too long. I will not listen to her. It is my choice and I will make that choice.

When I feel weak, I will listen to my real friends and loved ones, who tell me that I am enough.

I am enough and I am powerful.

I am enough and I am strong.

I am enough and I am beautiful.

I am enough and I will prosper.

I am enough and I am love.

I am love and light and power.

Even as I type this she is whispering “Who the fuck do you think you are? You sound ridiculous and self centered.”

And I am telling her, ‘NO, I am enough.’

Momma O's Fall Update

2014-09-10T10:15:00.000-04:00

Fall is in full blast! It is still hot as balls out, but school started and my new job at the school has started.

Band practice has started.

Flag football has started.

The Eagles season has started.

We are all in. Balls to the wall, full steam ahead. At least until we hit that wall, which usually happens around November. When the wall is hit, we are wiped out and then we have to get ready for the holidays.

I have this image in my head of how the school year will go. I have started with a good momentum by packing lunches every day, preparing dinner, making sure the kids are clean and in bed by 8:00pm. I am getting the kids up early enough so there is no crazy rushing around in the morning. I am not sure how long this will last, because by February or there about, we are usually getting up with the most minimal time needed to get ready. No lunch is packed and I am scrambling to make sure that their lunch accounts have some money in them. And dinner consists of frozen waffles and a yogurt. But for now I am going to bask in the glory of everything being done right and in a timely manner!

I started a new job. I am the lunch lady at the kids’ school. I don’t see my kids because I work in a different building, but I will get to see Little One, next year. That is, if I decide to stay and I haven’t lost all my shit by the time school is over! As the lunch lady I am responsible for all of the first and second graders (approximately 600 munchkins). I make sure they get in line if they are ordering lunch. I get them sitting down to eat their lunches. Since they are relatively little guys and gals, I have to open juice boxes, yogurts, snacks and milks. I can also foresee carpel tunnel set in for all the shoes I have to tie. After they are done eating — and there is never enough time - I wipe down all of their tables and then take them out to recess until their teachers are done eating their lunches and come to retrieve them. I do this four times, in a row for about 150 kids at a pop. It is the fastest 2.5 hours of my life, every day.

The kids are a riot. Some of them need more discipline at home. Some of them need more help in school. Some of them are not happy. Some of them are super hyper. Some are space cadets. And the vast majority are really great kids. I love the kids. They make me laugh, smile, wince, roll my eyes, cry and they make me talk to myself. This is motherhood, so I am well suited. I am not sure if I am getting the whole “time away from my kids” thing correct. Since now I am just spending that time with other peoples kids. At least there is a meager paycheck in it at the end of the week.

Then we have this crazy armed burglary/home invasion stuff going on in our neighborhood. Yes, you read that right. It is complete bullshit. These desperate sonsabtches are going to houses in broad daylight, banging on the doors and then breaking in. It is so comforting to know that they have no fear in being caught, because most people are not home during the day, except for some of us. I am a bit rattled. But we have our vicious dog who will tear apart anyone who tries to get in and my double-black belt in TaiKwanJuJitSu will also help. Mother fuckers need to step back. Other than that, there really is nothing in this house worth more than a few bucks. Believe me I have tried to sell most of this shit on the yard sale sites and no one wants it.

Then we have my MiMom (94 year old grandmother) who fell and broke her hip in the nursing home…. yes, IN the nursing home. They actually had to perform surgery and she did well. It has been a trying summer to say the least. I spent my birthday in the hospital with my MiMom as she went in for surgery that day. It was not the best way to turn 42 but it could have been worse.

I look forward to fall. I love the change of seasons, the smells, the warm clothes that cover up hairy legs, the boots that hide the jacked up toes, the scarves and accessories. Time to break out the crock pot and have the house smelling yummy with food only The Hub and I will eat.

My plan is to write more, now that I have all this time on my hands….wait, what? Time, is still a commodity that eludes me. Until the next update.

Play Play Play all Day Day Day

2014-08-15T15:54:00.000-04:00

The end of the summer. The end of the sleeping-in. Well sort of sleeping-in, more like awaking without a set schedule. Every night, the boys and I have a routine. I kiss them goodnight and they ask, “So, what is the plan for tomorrow?” And I start with the same thing, “We will get up, eat breakfast, get dressed…..” then I have to figure out what we are going to do the next day. When they were very little and on the days Little One was not in preschool last year, I would finish with “then we will play, play, play all day, day, day.” There were many days this summer I said that also.

Now that school is starting and both of my boys will be in school all day, I am…I am… that is the thing, I don’t know? This will be the first time in 11 years that I will be without a child by my side for the majority of the day. They both will be out of my care for almost 9 hours a day.

I have been on a mission to find a job that can accommodate my new schedule. I posted this:

...just to make sure everyone knew! I interviewed for a lunch lady position at the school, which will not pay much, but the hours work. I have started submitting my writing to publications in hopes of getting paid to write. I am not there yet, but I got my first rejection, which actually made me feel pretty good. It made me feel like a real writer. I have been focusing on getting a job, mostly because, being home without the boys - while it will be wonderful at first - may just drive me batty.

Since the day I laid my eyes on First Born, I began my mission. I became a mom. I did not know until that moment - seeing him, holding him in my arms - that I wanted to be a mom. The Hub and I had decided to start a family. We both talked about being parents, and what that would mean; how we thought our lives would have to change and how we would want to raise our family.

Although I consciously made the effort to become a mother, I did not feel that I could do it until I saw First Born’s face. His entrance into our lives sealed in me what I was put here to do. I was put here to be a mother. I finally found a fit. I found something that I could be good at. I am still striving to be “good at it,” as it is a continual process. But I am enjoying the process.

When Little One was born I was already a mother, however being the mother of 2 was not something I was sure about. I adored First Born so much, that I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to devote the time and love to another one. I was proven wrong. The love was not divided it was multiplied. Little One and his birth process made me so much stronger and Motherhood requires strength, courage and vigilance, to name a few.

I am here to be their mother. They made me who I am. It is a difficult thing to admit that I did not feel like I had anything to offer the world until they came along. I don’t mean that in a bad way. I did not know at the time that I felt that way, until I had something to offer. That is the thing about parenthood. No one really knows what they are getting into. No one has any idea how they will react to or feel about being a parent, until it is thrust in their face. Talk about trial by fire! I am grateful that my boys have been what my life was missing. Not just the joy they bring me, or the beauty that they instill, but the messy, crazy, headache inducing stress of it all.

I am all in. All my chips rest with my ability to raise these little monkeys into productive, happy, well adjusted members of our world. I take it seriously, but laugh at it at the same time. I can’t take myself too seriously, because I know I am full of faults and misconceptions. I am fully aware of my “fake it till you make it” situation. I push myself to learn more about raising the kind of men that will impart love and compassion into the world. And as much as I want to get it right, I know that a lot of it is just a crap shoot.

I guess my thought is: I have devoted the past 11 years to having my boys at my side. It was a conscious choice that we were lucky enough to be able to make. One income and the pressure that involves is not easy. But we make it work. It is also not easy on my ego. I have always prided myself in being an independent woman. I moved out and took care of myself from the age of 19. I did not depend on anyone, (except for that year that I moved back home after a bad break up, oh yea, that sucked!) But I always had a full time job, paid my own bills and lived on my own. It was a source of pride and accomplishment. Even after the Hub and I got married, we split everything down the middle.

Fast forward 13 years and his paycheck is the only thing we have to “split” between a mortgage, loans, taxes, utilities, etc. Yes, I have had sporadic jobs watching other people’s children, for which I got paid. I have also worked at Little One’s preschool, as a lunch lady/teachers assistant, for which I also got paid, a little. But, I have not brought home a normal paycheck for 11 years. The pressure that puts on The Hub does not seem fair, but he assures me it is.

My job, my mission, was taking care of my boys and raising them. It still is my job and my mission, but now I will have less hours in the day to do it. Where do those hours leave me? What is my ‘job?’ I need a purpose during that time. If I stay home, I will sit and think about too much and I don’t need all that mess.

I will miss having a little one at home, so much.

I will miss the little hand in mine as we walk outside to play.

I will miss the little socks that get lost in the back seat of the car on the way to the grocery store.

I will miss my one on one time with a new, little, exploring mind.

I will miss the belly laughter at a favorite show.

I will miss the snuggles at nap time.

I will miss games of hide and seek where the 'hider' is always in full view.

I will miss teaching them their ABCs, or how to count, or their colors.

I will miss drawing with them or leaving messages for daddy at work.

I will miss those tight-neck-squeeze hugs.

I will miss spaghetti box trains.

I will miss sticky peanut butter and jelly kisses after lunch.

If I am home to ponder and think about all of that, the Zolft dosage will be doubling, sooner rather than later! I need to keep myself occupied between the times that I am actively mothering. Ideally, I could just write all day and get paid! That would rock. Anyone hiring? But until that works. I will be the lunch lady or the playground assistant, or whatever else is needed between the hours of 8:30 and 3:30.

Then they will get off the bus and most likely ignore me. But I will be here to be ignored, make dinner, take them to practice, and turn off the radio in the car when they start to talk about their day. (Car talks are the best.) I will be here to help with the homework, look over test scores and hear about their teachers. I will do the laundry every day (that just made me laugh out loud, cause, who am I kidding? That laundry will be done in 10-load spurts. You know it and I know it.) I will make them practice guitar and saxophone and any other interest they may have. I will make sure they are showering and First Born is putting on his deodorant. I will get them the coolest hair cuts and buy them new shoes every 3 months as they grow out of them. It is still continuing and someday I will miss all of these things too.

My boys are growing up. They will be out of the house all day, every day. When I kiss them goodnight every night and they ask, “So what is the plan for tomorrow?” I will tell them.

But I will look forward to a snow day or the summer break to say, “Play, play, play all day, day, day,” and hope that that means as much to them as it does to me.

A Day in a Mom's Life... Just Sayin'

2014-08-06T00:00:00.000-04:00

www.mommaosmusings.com

We are always thinking five steps ahead. Whether you work in the home, or both in and out of the home, mothers everywhere are on top of their game. If they are not they are lam blasted by anyone who has an opinion.

I have young children and watch other people's young children. When watching my kids or others my first priority is, well, them. If they want to play, we play, if they want to eat, we eat, if they want to go outside, we go outside, if they want... well, you get the picture.

I do this, all the while, planning my next 18 hours. I am clock watching for,

meal time,

diaper change time,

potty time (mine and theirs),

snack time,

nap time,

homework time,

laundry time,

reading time,

TV time,

bath time

and finally bed time.

As I am clock watching I am worrying:

Did they eat enough/too much?

Are they eating the right things?

Did they poop/pee?

When was the last time they pooped/peed?

Are they they on target developmentally?

Am I favoring one over the other?
Am I creating brats, who always get what they want?
Am I too hard on them?
Do I expect too much/too little?
Is my messy house a problem?
How do other moms keep everything so friggin clean and straightened up?

How can I expect my kids to straighten up if I don't?

When can I get some "me" time?
Do I deserve "me" time?
Can I sneak in a nap?
Can I sneak in a nap and not feel guilty?
Do I hover over the kids too much?
Can I let them watch TV for over and hour?
What is with this attitude?
Is my 7 year old really rolling his eyes at me already???

How do I get my children to wash their hands/say thank you/share/be kind to others/feel less anxious/pull up their zipper/tie their shoes/eat their food, etc.?

www.mommaosmusings.com

While all this is going on in my head, I am:
playing Star Wars,
preparing meals,

cleaning up meals,

setting up paper and washable markers,

cleaning up said paper and washable markers... Damn it! they really are not washable!
Playing Play-doh, why does it smell like that? It has not changed since the 70s, is it toxic because everything in the 70s was toxic, right?
Getting juice, no milk, no water, no "I WANT JUUUUUIIIIICCE!!!!!"
Making appointments,
planning vacations,

researching pre-schools, illnesses, parenting skills, sexual predators in my area. OMG! How scary is that! There are just too many freaky people out there!

I have only cracked the surface. I am sure there is more, but it is 11 o'clock at night and I have used up my blogging time. So I hope you enjoyed my brain, or lack there of!

Oh yea, did I mention I have to maintain:

a good marriage,

a weight,

an identity,

my medication

and my sanity.

Just sayin’.

Brain Matters

2014-07-29T14:19:00.001-04:00

Summer has been a whirlwind so far. I cannot seem to catch my breath. On July 1st my grandmother died. She was 88. Leading up to her death was a year and a half of a downward spiral. She suffered from an evil called dementia. It started with her anxiety and constant worry. This was not new as she seemed to always worry, but it was much more pronounced. It progressed into panic, violent outbursts to full blown dementia.

If you have not dealt with someone with dementia, it is difficult to explain. With dementia, it seems as if the years all stumble together. Like a freight train that was going through life at a fast speed until it crashed. Each car colliding into the next. Some cars overlapping and flying to the front. All containing life events, memories and wild dreams. And as these life events, memories and dreams tumble out of the cars the person is left trying to sort through them and put them back where they belong. But the places that they belong are irreversibly damaged.

Also my good friend’s brain is not working properly. She is a beautiful woman who graduated University with honors and received awards in her field before falling to mental illness, drugs and alcohol. In which order, I am not sure. For 20 years she has battled and struggled with this illness. I have learned to befriend her in a totally different way. I love her and always will. I also miss the person she was but cannot mourn that loss because there are still glimmers of that old person in the person she is now.

I have another grandmother who is approaching 94 years old. Her brain has not changed but I now know she has suffered from a form of mental illness for most of her life. She has been and is even more so now, delusional. She makes up stories. Before, you sort of knew what to believe and what not to believe. Now, you really can’t believe much. This has made me question how many things I have believed in the past, that may not have been reality. I revisit some of her stories and make sure they were corroborated by my grandfather or other relatives. It simultaneously makes me angry, sad and amused. She has a good heart. Most of her stories were to protect someone or make things look better than they actually were. She may have done that over the years to help herself get through difficult times and finding that it worked for her, she continued.

The thought of losing my mind is one of my biggest fears along with it being completely within reach. I have suffered from depression and anxiety for most of my life. Although I have it under control with therapy and medication, there are times I can fully relate to how the brain just wants to let go and stop taking orders.

When I suffered from postpartum depression, with my First Born, It was after he weened from nursing. My hormone levels changed and I would cry almost every day. I did not recognize it as depression since I was able to function, and it did not feel like the depression I had experienced before. I was able to get in under control with therapy and Prozac. The combo helped immensely.

Five years later when I suffered with Postpartum Depression after Little One, it hit me in the form of severe panic attacks. While pregnant with him I spent 9 weeks in the hospital on bed rest because of placenta-previa. When he was born 6 weeks early he spent 18 days in the NICU, I spent every day running back and forth to the hospital while forgetting to eat, and obsessively pumping breast milk. The day after we brought him home, I suffered a kidney stone attack. A week after that I was back in the ER with a gall bladder attack requiring surgery. A month later I had to have half of my thyroid removed because of a benign lump.

After all of this happened my brain failed me. I was convinced I was going to die. I was convinced that cancer was running through my body. I was convinced that I would never see my children grow up. I was convinced that my children would be left without a mother. I was convinced that I was going to leave my husband widowed.

These convictions were what sent me into a tailspin of severe panic. Panic to the point of not getting out of my bed and walling myself in a cocoon of blankets. I was awake all night with a premie newborn - pumping and feeding him my milk from a bottle because he was too tiny to latch on. I was obsessed with making milk as it was the only thing I felt I was able to do. I was afraid of eating and felt perpetually nauseous. I shrunk down to 105 lbs. which I had not been for over 20 years.

While my husband was at work, my mother and my best friend took turns helping me. They did all the things that I should have been doing. First Born was then almost 5 years old and they parented and took care of him and Little One. I felt immense amounts of guilt. They tried to get me to eat and tried to help me get out of my room. But I felt paralyzed.

On a good day, when the haze lifted slightly, I got to my doctor who prescribed Xanax, which I was afraid to take because I was nursing. Luckily my freezer was so packed with breast milk that we could barely fit any thing else in there. So when I finally persuaded myself to take half a pill, I could then pump and dump. The Xanax worked which then led me to contact a therapist. This led me to talk to my Dr. about an antidepressant that I could take while nursing. I did not want to. I was so afraid that it would hurt Little One. They told me that Zoloft was the safest one to take while breast feeding. The Zoloft started to work which then led me to join a group for moms with PPD. The combo of all of these things helped me escape the demons.

I can see why people have thought that they were possessed when suffering from mental illness. There is a definite displacement. A disassociation, of what is really happening, what you perceive to be happening and what you know to be true. Everything is turned on its head. Everything is warped. So when my friend, whom I have known since childhood, tells me that she is hearing voices that are deceiving her-although I have not experienced that- I get it. I get the fear and confusion. When I would talk to my grandmother who suffered from dementia and she would tell me about the long deceased relative that she was just talking to, or how everyone around her was after her, or how she needed money so she could get herself a hotdog, I got it. I got the panic and disorientation. When my other grandmother starts to tell me an outlandish tale that involves her being the savior or hero, I get it. I get the wanting of things to be so different from what they actually are and wanting that so badly that you convince yourself of it.

The brain seems to be both extremely sensitive and immensely strong. It’s power is frightening. We must take care of it, just as we try to take care of the rest of our body. Summertime is supposed to be a “vacation” time. Maybe the rest of this summer, I will concentrate on giving my brain a vacation. Letting it get some R&R. Allowing the worry to stop and the light to shine in. I want to preserve it, nourish it and honor it. Stay healthy my friends.

Because I Said So.

2014-06-18T10:30:00.000-04:00

Why? (Photo credit: wadem)

‘Why? But WHY?’

Because I said so.

Because I am your mother.

Because life is not fair.

or my favorite... “Z”

There have to be better answers that I can give. I just have not figured it out yet. I have used these above, standard, time-tested answers to “Why?”

But we need some new ones.

My children have been asking this question since they learned the word. It is an information gathering word. When they were 2, 3 and 4 they were just learning about, well, everything. Just figuring things out, they had to ask ‘Why.’ This - while annoying after the 300th ‘Why’ of the day - can be endearing in little ones. I wanted to give them the information they needed to navigate their world. I felt a strong responsibility to impart the correct information.

As they get older the ‘Why’ is still about gathering information. But this information gathering is more about how they can use it to argue their point.

Why not (Photo credit: Pete Reed)

There are countless times my children are asking to do something/ have something/ go somewhere or eat something. If I say ‘No,’ the inevitable ‘Why’ follows. Sometimes, the real reason I say no is, I just don’t have the damn time to even think about the question they are asking me. They ask when I am doing 500 things at once or am significantly distracted i.e. picking up the phone, sitting down to eat, paying bills, starting a conversation, writing, reading, cooking, etc.

They have learned that if they ask for something when mom and dad (but especially dad) are busy, there is a 60/40 chance that you will get an agreeable nod or a positive sounding grunt.

Lumberjack (Photo credit: ElDave)

One day, my then 5 year old was walking out of the shed with a saw. Yes, a real, log-cutting saw. When I asked him what he was doing, he said, “Daddy said it’s ok!” Meanwhile my husband was in the shed wrestling to fix our ever breaking weed-whacker, while our son walked in, talked his ear off for a full 5 minutes, and then asked his dad if he could be a lumberjack. Sometimes I believe that my boys are genius’s. Little. Evil. Genius’s.

Then there are times I just don’t think that my children deserve another, blessed, fun thing for the day! After playing with friends, swimming, ice-pops, popcorn, impromptu baseball games and an overall fun-filled day, I may say, “Now go read for 30 mins.” If that is followed by a ‘Why,’ I want to explode. Are they kidding me?

My exploding brain is because, no matter what answer I give, that answer will be met with a rebuttal, counter point, followed by negotiations and pleadings. I don’t have time for this shit! My almost 11 year old is excellent at explaining to me why I am wrong, or why my reason is not a valid one. If he can not debate the reason he will plea and negotiate his terms for doing whatever was asked of him. I would like to say that I do not give in. For the most part that is true, but I must give in sometimes if they continue to use this tactic, right?

They wear me down. They know my weaknesses: the end of the day, their father is working late, I am hungry, I need 5 minutes alone, I Just. Want. Quiet.

At these times I try the tactic at which - after I have asked them to do something - I ignore the ‘Why’ which is then followed by the scream..... “Maaooooommmm, are you even listening to me?!?”

Does this get any easier? I need to have some authority. Remember when kids used to fear their parents? Was it easier for them - those 70s, smoking, drinking, beat-the-shit-outta-you parents who would send the kids out at dawn and not let them back in until the streetlights came on? It had to be easier than the negotiations. I believe that my son could very deftly wear down any hostage situation. He could also be the lawyer for Dracula in a murder trial and get Dracula off with time served.

Where am I going wrong? Please tell me I am not alone. Let me know you experience this too. Why? Because life is not fair, I am your Momma O and I said so! That’s Why!

Momma O Got Schooled!

2014-06-11T09:30:00.000-04:00

I attended a blogging conference this weekend. I have never been to a blogging conference before. In fact I have never been to any conference before. I follow some pretty amazing bloggers, Jen, of People I Want to Punch in the Throat. Bethany, of I Love Them Most when they are Sleeping, Stephanie, of Binkies and Briefcases, Ninja Mom, Divine Secrets of a Domestic Diva..... There are just too many to mention and now - after this conference - I am following so many more! These and many other wonderful writers converged in a vortex of awesome in Baltimore, MD, on the beautiful campus of University of Notre Dame, Maryland. The conference consisted of a cocktail reception, a full day of classes, and a Retro Prom hosted by NickMom.

I was encouraged to go to this conference by some really great friends and a really great husband. I did not know what to expect going in, but I wanted to learn what to do to become a better writer. I wanted to find out if I should continue to write or throw in the towel on this whole blogging thing. I also wanted to meet some of those above mentioned bloggers that I stalk admire.

The first blogger that I started following was Jen of People I Want To Punch In The Throat. When I read her Overachieving Elf on the Shelf, I felt like we shared the same brain. Her words were exactly what I thought and felt. From that moment on, I started writing increasingly. I used the fact that so many people loved her and her thoughts that maybe they would love me and mine. I reached out to her through email, very early on, and asked her questions about blogging to which she RESPONDED! I was blown away. It was like getting an email from an author you really admire and having your questions answered. Duh!

The first night of the conference was a reception and cocktail part hosted by Full Tilt Beer. (I would highly recommend the Raspberry Wheat.) I met some wonderful women and one man. Let me tell you - he had balls to be the only man at this all woman conference. His blog is awesome. Check it out. Then I spotted Jen of People I Want To Punch In The Throat. I confirmed with anyone that was in earshot that it was indeed, THE Jen. Then, I made my way over to her. I know her, I read her, I follow her, I love her, she is the reason I started blogging. I instantly reached out to give her a hug.... but midway in, I realized that, 'Wait, she has no idea who the fuck I am, maybe I should not be accosting her!' Then, I kind of pulled back as she, very graciously, was accepting of the hug. SO it became this awkward hug, no hug, full on hug, thing. To make matters worse, after I got informed consent for the hug, I think I held the hug too long. (I may have smelled her hair, too.) Oh, and I probably interrupted her conversations, which left a group of wonderful ladies standing there witnessing my aggressive awkwardness. Not sure if THE Jen remembers me, but I have to apologize publicly to her anyone else that had to witness that. I am sorry.

Jen’s kindness and the warmth and acceptance of all the “big names” there was uplifting. Ninja Mom writes some really funny stuff and I already loved her before meeting her. But in person she is 10 times more hilarious. She needs her own show. Kim Bongiorno of Let Me Start By Saying is such a wealth of information that she dispels freely and with patience. The founder of Blog U, Stephanie from Binkies and Breifcases has to be one of the kindest souls I have ever encountered. Not to mention my own personal idol Bethany Meyer, of I Love Them Most When They Are Sleeping. We drove to the conference together and I am forever thankful that she befriends me and gave me a second chance! I met some people that I connected with immediately. Teri, of Snarkfest, and Somewhat Sane Mom are, absolutely, my kind of people. Tiffany of Committedwife.com is on the mark. Keia, of Two Storied House is extremely talented, Kristi, of Finding Ninee made be cry at her open mic appearance. Jenn, of Something Clever 2.0 , is very funny and a vision to boot. So many made their mark on me that I am sorry I can't list them all.

I walked away with so much from the Blog U 14 conference - the classes and at the open mic nights. I learned that I LOVE when I read my work aloud and people respond by laughing and snorting. I learned that I am allowed to consider myself a writer. I learned that I have to edit and walk away and edit and walk away and then edit one more time before I hit “publish.” I learned that social media is my friend! Who knew? I learned that a going to a prom in your 40s is so much better than when you are in your teens. I enthusiastically recommend it. I also learned that I can still do the running man, the roger rabbit (but not as good as my adorable roommate Jenn Rian as witnessed here!) and the cabbage patch but will pay for it in the morning and possibly a few mornings after that. I am going to continue to write. I am even going to try to get paid for my writing. The BlogU 14 conference left me feeling encouraged, inspired and gave me more knowledge than I though was available.

Us writers - wow that feels good to say - are a strange bunch. Many of us are socially awkward. Some of us talk, nonstop. Some of us find it hard to speak. Some of us get too nervous around large groups. Some of us have to decompress after too much interaction with people. Some of us LOVE being the center of attention. Some of us dance to footloose like we were IN the movie. Some of us like to give hugs without considering whether the recipient is game. The thing is, we all want to be heard. We all have a voice and we all become free and less inhibited when we start writing. We are part of a very unique tribe. A tribe that I am so humbled and proud to feel a part of.

P.S. I just have to mention a few more bloggers that I was so impressed with (in no particular order):
Keeper of The Fruit Loops
Kissing the Frog
Ditching the Masks
Becoming SuperMommy
The Mom of the Year
Bad Parenting Moments

Yeah Write Entry # 160

2014-05-05T08:40:00.001-04:00

Warmth

Sun

Sand

The dull din of waves, kids playful screams and a multitude of conversations.

Then it happened.

I dropped the french fry.

They came out of no where and everywhere.

Cawing and screaming for more.

Relentless

Fearless

Peace stealing birds.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is an entry into this week's Gargleblaster brought to us by Yeah Write

The Rules:

Why do birds suddenly appear?

Give us your answer in 42 words. We know you all know the next line in the song. Let’s see if you can make us think of something different. Take it out of context of the original song and help me clear my head!

You don’t need to include the question in your 42-word response, and you should make sure your answer stands alone. What do we mean? Write down the question. Write down your response. Now cover the question with your hand and read your answer out loud. Does it still make sense when you don’t know the question? That’s what we’re looking for. Be creative, and remember: no family allowed!

Sterling Performance

2014-04-30T12:43:00.002-04:00

Did you see this? This scumbag, racist, sexist, rich, old, white guy? He physical appearance confuses me. Maybe botox and plastic surgery? He is a hot mess. If you didn’t hear about it, Donald Sterling is the owner of the LA Clippers. His “girlfriend” recorded a bunch of mind-numbing, increasingly-annoying arguments. This was reported with all the journalistic integrity that TMZ can muster. Then re-reported on all the other news networks, with the same journalistic integrity.

In order to write my take on this situation, I listened to all of the recordings obtained by TMZ. My suggestion: don’t waste your time, energy or computer speakers. First, the arguments remind me of high schoolers and the fact that they are grown ass adults, just makes me nauseous! Listening to the recordings is exhausting, only because it is obvious this guy is a scumbag and this woman is recording him with the full intent of cashing out, big time. I don’t fault her too much. I do fault her for allowing herself to spend time - in any capacity - with such a person.

His whiny manipulative arguments of why he does not want HER to publicize that SHE associates with black people or minorities. While she herself is both a black/Latina with whom HE publicly associates. He assures her that he is not racist or doesn’t hate black people, after all he says, “I support them and give them food, and clothes, and cars, and houses.” WHAT? It’s not like he does it out of the goodness of his heart. They are getting PAID for doing their jobs. They are not being GIVEN anything!

Then this misogynistic, prick goes on to tell his “girl,” “I don't want to change. If my girl can't do what I want, I don't want the girl. I'll find a girl that will do what I want! Believe me. I thought you were that girl—because I tried to do what you want. But you're not that girl.” This guy is a waste of space. He thinks “his girl” is an appliance and if it doesn’t work the way he thinks it should he just takes it back and gets another one. It is obvious that he does not view women as equal or even human! Oh did I mention that he is married?

Some are saying that he was illegally recorded and she was just doing this to get paid. Absolutely, I agree, but that does not take away from the fact that he is a sexist, racist, misogynistic, ignorant mother-fucker. Although he was illegally recorded, I am sure he has not hidden his views very well throughout his 70 plus years of life.

In fact in 2009 Sterling paid out $2.7 MILLION for a housing discrimination in a case brought by the Department of Justice. It was the largest payout ever or since. The quotes in the sworn testimony are even worse than his girlfriend’s recordings. Here is just a sampling from the lawsuit:

"Cultivating his image, [former employee] Davenport said, meant no blacks, no Mexican-Americans, no children (whom Sterling called 'brats') and no government-housing-subsidy recipients as tenants. So according to the testimony of tenants, Sterling employees made life difficult for residents in some of his new buildings. They refused rent checks, then accused renters of nonpayment. They refused to do repairs for black tenants and harassed them with surprise inspections, threatening residents with eviction for alleged violations of building rules. ...

"When Sterling first bought the Ardmore, he remarked on its odor to Davenport. 'That's because of all the blacks in this building, they smell, they're not clean,' he said, according to Davenport's testimony. 'And it's because of all of the Mexicans that just sit around and smoke and drink all day.' He added: "So we have to get them out of here.' Shortly after, construction work caused a serious leak at the complex. When Davenport surveyed the damage, she found an elderly woman, Kandynce Jones, wading through several inches of water in Apartment 121. Jones was paralyzed on the right side and legally blind. She took medication for high blood pressure and to thin a clot in her leg. Still, she was remarkably cheerful, showing Davenport pictures of her children, even as some of her belongings floated around her. ...

"Davenport reported what she saw to Sterling, and according to her testimony, he asked: 'Is she one of those black people that stink?' When Davenport told Sterling that Jones wanted to be reimbursed for the water damage and compensated for her ruined property, he replied: 'I am not going to do that. Just evict the bitch' ."

It’s funny that the NBA did not place any penalties on Mr. Sterling after that housing discrimination lawsuit? I wonder why? OH, maybe because it was hardly reported. But if you click on the quotes above it links to an ESPN Magazine 2009 article. So it is not as if it was hidden. It is not as if ANYONE who knows this guy could ever accuse him of being a decent human being. Maybe because it takes someone to illegally record a conversation then leak it to TMZ for anyone to take notice? Has it come to this? OR MAYBE, the reason the NBA did not do anything about the guilt in the past lawsuit, was because what Mr. Sterling did - in the housing department case - he did to poor people. You can treat poor people like shit and get away with it, but if you say something about a rich person, like Magic Johnson or Matt Kemp, you get held accountable. I hope that is not the case. I would like to think that racism and sexism is not overlooked if you are rich. If only!

But as I grow older I have seen proven time and time again that if you are a lifelong asshole, chances are it will catch up to you. Karma takes her time. She is in no rush. Maybe that is why the Clippers suck. Maybe that is why he is now losing his team. Maybe that is why he looks like .... I still can’t figure it out.

Yeah Write Submission

2014-04-28T08:46:00.000-04:00

No!

They just keep going and going. I would give my eye

for the clocks to stop. For time to stand still, if only for a day.

But would it really be a day?

Could we survive without calculations and parameters?

Devoid?

click here

http://yeahwrite.me/gargleblaster-159/

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This week’s ultimate question was suggested by Erica M, and comes from Alice Munro’s short story A Real Life.

Have all your clocks stopped?

Linking to the HOST Linking to the HOST

"It was all started by a mouse."

2014-02-10T22:03:00.002-05:00

Disney. Walt Disney World. Walt said, "I only hope that we don't lose sight of one thing - that it was all started by a mouse.”

A mouse. That little mouse that has been around for 86 years, and last week he cost us beaucoup bucks. It was definitely worth it. Although the highlight of the trip for Lil One, who is 5, was the hotel and pool. That was really all he wanted to do. He was happy meeting Lilo and Stitch, and The Mouse himself. He had fun dancing with the German band at dinner one night. He also laughed at the 3D Muppet Show. But if you ask him his favorite part of the trip, it was the pool, eating and the hotel. In that order.

First Born was all about the rides, and since The Hub does not do rides, it was I who partook in those rides. The rides at Disney are not too crazy so it was not taxing, but enjoyable.

We surprised the kids with my parents (Nana and PopPop) showing up at the airport to come along with us. So it was a magical trip right from the beginning.

We flew out of very cold and nasty weather to some not-as-cold and not-as-nasty weather. Florida did warm up for us after a couple of days and we were enjoying the sunshine in our shorts and t-shirts. I dressed the boys in very bright colored, matching t-shirts as to spot them quickly in the crowded parks. According to the touringplans.com app that I downloaded, on a scale of 1-10 the crowd level was only between 2 and 4 the entire time we were there. I couldn’t get over how crowded it was and how much worse it must be in the summer or peak seasons!

There are so many apps and websites and books about Disney that my OCD brain had a field day while planning. I loved the planning process. I spent hours and hours on www.disneyworld.disney.go.com on "My Disney Experience."

Planning is exciting, the execution is where I get nervous and uptight. I sincerely try not to let things get me angry. Stupid things, like Lil One crying because he does not want to leave the hotel. First Born worrying himself nauseous about what we have planned for the day. My phone with all aforementioned apps on it, NOT WORKING and running out of battery power by noon. It took a few days to work out the kinks, but I don’t like kinks. If things don’t run smoothly and according to my plans I feel as though I have failed. Not only failed myself, but failed my kids, my husband and my parents. Therein failing Disney.

I failed at Disney for the first couple of days. But The Hub, on the other hand, is the antithesis of this. He lets it go. All of it. He just goes along and does not feel the need to direct, plan or control any of it. He is wonderful when I refer to him in a quandary. He is quick and helpful if there is a true problem or dilemma. But he is also King of Calm when it comes to getting stuff done. I wish I had this. I NEED TO LEARN THIS! I can’t let ANYONE else plan anything that I am involved in. It is pathetic and a huge character flaw that I would like to overcome someday.

I do enjoy the planning and the timelines and the making of reservations - the anticipation of everyone’s needs and wants and desires - the painstaking tasks of forecasting every possible bump in the road. I delight in that and feel really accomplished if it all goes the way I plan AND everyone is happy and having fun. The minute that something goes astray, or someone is unhappy, I not only get upset, but I take personal offense to it. YES! I know! That. Is. Crazy. I’m working on it.

I genuinely tried to let some of it go on this vacation. I mean, I did plan the shit out of it and took control of mostly everything, but when the weather didn’t cooperate, or the reservations got screwed up, or Lil One just wanted to go back to the hotel, (and so did First Born and The Hub), we did. I went with it.

I decided to have a few drinks when we went to the countries in Epcot. A margarita in Mexico, a few beers in Germany, a couple of wines in Italy.

I walked arm in arm with my Hub watching our boys swinging from my parent’s arms, which warmed my heart beyond compare.

I stopped to feel the soft little hand of my Lil One, grasp on to mine for no other reason than to hold it. (we weren’t crossing a street or anything!!) I relished in that feeling the entire time. His little fingers curved gently around my hand, made me long for the days that First Born was that small and knowing how fast it goes.

I was very conscious when First Born and I rode the Haunted Mansion and he scooted closer to me and asked me if I was scared when I rode that same ride when I was his age. I put my arm around him, happy to have this opportunity to comfort this little boy who is only about 4 inches shorter than me. I explained how each of the illusions were being done and how none of it could be real, which makes it all the more fun.

I looked at my parents and enjoyed their stories of rides that I liked and didn’t like as a child, their remembrances of myself and my brother in the very same place and what had changed and what hadn’t. Watching them with my boys was a joy that I could not hide. My boys adore their Nana and PopPop almost as much as Nana and PopPop adore my boys. Seeing that brought me back to the same feelings I had with my grandparents.

The Hub and I were very in sync during this trip. We both were feeling extremely lucky and full of emotion. It is hard not to in Disney World. It was a roller coaster of emotions and fun, intermixed with some tiring timelines and long long days.

And it all started with a mouse. An 86 year old mouse who makes families come together and have fun. That we did.

Mickey Mouse in Steamboat Willie (1928) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

For Sale by Owner, Magic included.

2013-10-14T11:13:00.000-04:00

For Sale:

A Warm Loving Home with a side of Magic

This is no normal home. This is a magical and wonderful place. It belongs to my MiMom. She and my PopPop bought this home and watched it be built in 1948.

They were newly married, living in an apartment in South Philadelphia and had a bouncing baby boy (my father.) Their families were surprised and worried that they were moving so far away, going all the way to this new development in Drexel Hill. Although, they were able to convince my PopPop’s brother and his new wife to move in to the twin house attached to theirs. My great-grandfather, Pop Otto, was there to solicit his “advise,” in broken English, to the builders and to whomever would listen. Although he spent a lot of time saying, “Waassa matta, youa no undastan de ingleesh?”

Pop Otto

When they moved in, after settlement they only had about $11.00 left for the month. Therefore the celebratory dinner that they were going to have, had to be a modest one. Pop Otto (MiMom’s Dad) got to work along with my PopPop (his son-in-law) to custom build the corner china cabinets and wooden valances on every window, along with the trim woodwork and moldings. My PopPop was very proud of the spiel he added onto the bottom of the banister. This was a wonderful home of a hard working couple who raised two sons.

Super Powers

The home did not start showing signs of it’s enchantment until the early 70s. I don’t remember the first time I was brought to the home, since I was a baby but all my memories of this home are hard to be believed. The magic happens the minute you step in the door. Whenever I walked in, I was instantly transformed into “pretty-girl” and “princess.” When there in the home, I could do no wrong, no matter how hard I tried. In this house, my PopPop who was a strong disciplinarian with his own boys became the most kind-hearted and jolly man I knew. He also thought I was the prettiest girl in the world and hung on my every word. My MiMom who was a notoriously busy woman always had time to tell me stories and let me bake and cook with her. She always wanted me there. That is part of the alchemy, when you are there you are always wanted. You are always accepted and you are never turned away. The magic this home possessed is still there today.

MiMom and her Princess in front of china cabinet

PopPop and his Pretty Girl

Thinking that I was the only one that experienced the home’s power, I spoke with my cousin, second cousins and brother. They TOO felt the forces of this home. When you sit and eat there in the formal dining room, and people start yelling and screaming, the house does it’s work and everyone is hugging and kissing before they leave.

Great house for Parties.

It doesn’t stop there. When sleeping in one of the 3 bedrooms of this house, it is the warmest and comfiest you will ever feel. When you wake in this home and run down the stairs you are always greeted as though you have not been seen in ages and the care and concern for how you slept is evident.

When lounging in the living room watching tv you can easily look out the enclosed porch and see all that is going on in the neighborhood, but the house may make you go to the porch door and stand there with it partially opened while leaning out to make sure everyone in the neighborhood is behaving.

The basement of this home has seen many parties and celebrations, not to mention a perfect getaway for kids who need to play and not disrupt the adults. The basement leads to a driveway and a garage that saw, teenage boys build their very own boat. It also has a workbench that was used by my PopPop, to keep the house always looking it’s best.

The kitchen is where you will find the most bewitchment happen. There is where the best food in the world is made with meticulous care and attention to detail. It is in that kitchen, sitting around the table, stories will be passed on and gossip will be told and embellishments will be made. It is at that same table where you will learn how difficult it is to make a Gianetti cookie, especially because you are never given the exact ingredients. This kitchen table and the dining room table is where all the most important discussions will be made and where decisions will be finalized.

Notice custom wooden valance

Notice the custom made banister

So now that my PopPop has passed on, almost 4 years ago now, and my MiMom is approaching her 94th year, it is time to pass this magical house onto another hard working family. The magic is there. I can vouch for it. I still experience it when I walk through the front door. Apparently it has doubled since my boys were born as the 5th generation has been enchanted by this home.

5th generation to enjoy this fine home.

This house is for sale. But as you can see, this is no normal house. It contains amazing powers. There is no extra charge for the magic. Yes, it may need a little bit of work in the bathroom and kitchen. Yes, the finished basement, may need some tlc. But this home, this mystical place, is a true gem. It is where you can make the same types of memories that fuel the magic of this house. You can purchase this home and become transformed. It will be the best investment you have ever made.

Beach Duty

2013-06-28T23:53:00.001-04:00

Our duty is keeping vigil. Constant, attentive eagle-eye attention. I don’t know how parents of more than 2 do it. I have done it by myself with my two boys, and it is exhausting. I may look relaxed..... wait, I don’t even look relaxed. I am on edge. If you try to talk to me I am about 1/4 paying attention to your words. Not the meaning of your words, or the context in which they are being said. Just the words to which I respond with an “Ah-huh” or “Really?” Nothing more. I am analyzing not only the distance in which my 9 year old is drifting out into the sea but, the wave roughness, gauging the undertow as well as any adult that may be around him. All while keeping an eye on my 5 year old who does not go out too far yet. He is governed (a little bit) by his own fear, which is getting less and less as the day goes on. First Born never possessed this natural fear. He would have gone all the way to Portugal the first time we let him in the water.

You know us, you may be one of us. We stand sometime, sit, at the water’s edge. Watching. Looking at our watches to see if it is time to reapply the sunscreen too our young ones, tender and perfect skin. Ignoring our own older, weathered skin as the right side of our body becomes darker or redder depending on your melanin levels.

I remember many, many of my younger days spent on the Jersey Shore, coating myself with my new bottle of Hawaiian Tropic Dark Tanning Oil, just purchased at the Thrift Drugs, until I glistened like a glazed doughnut. Checking my tan lines and flipping and shifting with the sun as to get the perfect - even tan. That was in the 80s and early 90s when frying your skin to the desired hue was perfectly acceptable. My friends and I would compare our tans, by holding our arms next to each other, exclaiming how one would have the perfect “golden” tan, others looked too red, and I always looked more green. Yes, my dark olive tone, seemed to stand out pretty significantly, next to their pretty irish skin. Ahh, youth.

Now we stand guard. Like half burnt centurions. Our supplies neatly tucked away back at the base camp. This is another of our duties. We must secure a position on the sand that is in close proximity to the lifeguards and a visible distance from the water, with consideration taken for the tide schedule. Our supplies: umbrella or two, extra sunscreen, snacks, water, sandwiches, more snacks, extra towels, wipes, baby powder (c’mon rookie! Don’t know what the powder is for?! Google, “baby powder sand”.... Go ahead I will wait! ..... I know, right?! It is genius and works!) buckets, shovels - but not those wimpy little shovels, the big ones and plenty of them, boogie boards, trucks, frizbee, ball, diapers (if that applies), hats and extra swim shirts.

After the base camp is set up, we promptly leave base and walk to the water’s edge to stand our guard. Now that I don’t have to hover over a toddler, I have started bringing a chair to sit at the edge. Just to try to get a little break. But the intensity of the watch is no less vigilant, just a little lower. If the Hub is there we each take one child. But, usually, if he goes into the water he has both - one in his arms and the other next to him. Now that the Little One is 5 he is getting a smidge easier. First Born is frantically trying to optimize his water time. He plays in the water then runs out, grabs his boogie board and runs back in. Then he runs back out, drops the boogie board at base and runs back in. This goes on for hours at a time.

The lunch break is usually a cacophony of wiping sand off/drying off/ figuring out who’s sandwich is who’s/yelling about sand flying everywhere/jockeying for the best place to sit/ then, inevitably, a seagull takes off with someones lunch. Those friggin birds are good. They know the drill. They just wait for that little hand that holds the sandwich just a tad too long, out and away from the body..... juuuuust enough, then BAMMM! They got it, flying away with my good genoa salami while a child screams far beneath them. Damn flying rats!

After that battle, it is back to the water. Sometimes the Little One will want to dig want me or The Hub to dig a giant hole. A large crevasse that he can use to slide into and jump off of. This is followed buy wanting another crater dug next to it so that First Born can have the same thing. Which is followed by another one that they both can play in. Before you know it the area surrounding the base camp looks like the surface of the moon and anyone who walks by must be very careful.

The drill of the clean up is timed and usually culminates with someone me screaming something to the effect of “I HAVE HAD IT! NO I WILL NOT CARRY YOU! PICK UP YOUR TOYS IF YOU DON’T WANT TO LEAVE THEM HERE. WHERE THE HELL IS YOUR OTHER FLIP FLOP? I JUST CLEANED THE SAND OFF OF THOSE BUCKETS, DON’T PUT MORE IN THEM! WE CAN NOT TAKE ANY MORE SHELLS! I KNOW THE SAND IS HOT, THAT IS WHY I TOLD YOU TO PUT THE FLIP FLOPS ON! IT’S YOUR BOOGIE BOARD, IF YOU DON’T CARRY IT, IT STAYS HERE!” However, each day spent at the beach gets a little more proficient than the last. Each night after the beach ends in an exhausted collapse.....adults first.

There will come a time when we will be able to sit on the beach with a book again. When we will go to the water when we feel like it. When we can arrive and leave when we feel like it. When we decide that it is too hot or too cold to sit for more than an hour, or stay until the sun goes down. It feels like a long way off, but it will happen. Until then, ATTENTION! ABOUT FACE! FORWARD MARRRRRCH! Set up your base camp, and stand attention at the water’s edge until further instruction.

Want My Advise......

2013-05-31T13:16:00.000-04:00

I am feeling blessed. It is easier on a day like today. It is bright and sunny, about 85 degrees and I am writing, enjoying the shade under a picnic bench umbrella. There is a soft breeze swirling my hair around my shoulders. Little One just got finished being an “explorer.” Complete with his safari hat and binoculars, lurking for wild animals in the tall grass. He is now in the sand box, telling me how cool and comfy the sand is on his bare piggies.

I am in my back yard. MY back YARD! I don’t let that sink in enough. This is my piece of heaven. My abode. My haven. Not everyone can enjoy this any time they want. And all I have to do is walk out my back door. Every so often, I stop and am in awe. It scares the shit out of me. I chastise myself with feelings of inadequacy and being undeserving of such a life. I am afraid that it will all be taken away, somehow. I worry - it’s what I do. Then I get mad at myself for being scared. I get angry for NOT being able to take it all in and enjoy it for what it is worth.

The pressure we put on ourselves is too much. We are constantly being told and also feel the need to “take every moment in.”

“Cherish this time, in your life.”

“It goes by so quick!”

“They grow up so fast!”

“They won’t be little forever!”

It is a constant stream of people telling us, “Hey, you! Don’t you dare feel frustrated or overwhelmed! If you don’t enjoy every split second, there is something wrong with you!” It is not what they mean to say, but it is often what we hear.

These messages are usually being thrown at us from people who mean well and have “been there-done that.” But what if we started to throw the messages back at them?

“Hey, enjoy your retirement You’ll be dead before you know it!” (OK maybe that was a bit harsh, but I am PMSing)

“Enjoy, waking up when you wake naturally!”

“Enjoy a routine that is not interrupted.”

“Have fun spoiling your grandkids without fear of screwing up their lives.”

“Enjoy the fact that your grandchildren will unceasingly hold you in the highest and best regard, no matter what and until the end of time.”

It is not always the grandparent generation that is giving us this advise. Sometimes it is those that have kids who are on to the next level. My First Born is 9 and Little One just turned 5. So sometimes those who have teenagers, long for those cute, smaller ages again. They will often tell horror stories of the pubescent demon that resides in their child’s room. “So enjoy it now! It only gets worse!” “God, I miss them being so small!” is often heard. Maybe we could tell them:

“Yes, but treasure the fact that you can let them get a bath or shower without worrying about them dying.”

“Enjoy not having to wipe anyone's ass, but your own.”

“Have fun not having to watch NICK Jr., PBS Kids or Disney. Every. Day.”

“Enjoy not being woken up on the weekends, by anything other than your own circadian clock.”

“Take pleasure in being able to go out to a meal with your Hub without having to find a babysitter, leave a list of instructions, numbers, Dr.s’ information, allergies and neighbor’s names.”

I mean - every stage of life has moments to treasure. Every stage of life also has moments that are infuriating. I don’t expect to hate all of it, but we can’t be expected to love every single minute of it. If we didn’t allow ourselves to experience the difficult times (and sometimes really wallow in them) we would not know the joy and euphoria of the good times.

So as I watch Little One who has now found the hose and is “washing the house”

I think how sweet he is and how much fun he is having. That is followed by, realizing that all his summer clothes that I just fished out of the basement are still in the washing machine.... from yesterday. Which means I have to wash them again. I also have to fight with him as I turn off the hose, inevitably getting wet. Will I enjoy that.... Maybe. but that is my business. OK, now he just dropped trough and is peeing next to the hose..... My advise is, don’t give advise, unless it is asked for. Specifically. Then again who asked me? Better yet, write a blog!

CAVEAT: The "retirement aged people" I speak of in my blog are NOT my parents! I honestly have never received that "advise" from them. See Dad, I told you!

Should I Stay or Should I Go

2013-05-24T13:28:00.001-04:00

Starting a new workout routine is sort of like starting a new relationship. You have to invest time, energy and commitment. I have recently started a new one. Now, I have written before about working out and have told you how I love Zumba and Yoga, Spinning is for crazy people and Pilates is for snobs. I have yet to try out Body Combat or Body Pump, but they are on my list. The newest thing I have recently tried is “Adventure Boot Camp.” I was asked by my neighbor if I would like to do it with her. There was a discount so I signed up. I then roped in asked another friend and neighbor to join us.

This exercise program is on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays from 5:30am to 6:30 am. For those of you that know me, you know how much of a morning person I am. For those of you that don’t know me, let’s just say that if there was a competition for the most dirty looks, foulest curses and angriest grunts given before 8am I would win, hands down. The only thing that has me getting up every Monday, Wednesday and Friday is the fact that there are 2 other people either coming to pick me up or depending on me to drive. If it was left up to me to go on my own. I would have never went.

I have a few problems with this “Boot Camp.” The first problem I have is the fact that it is called “Boot Camp.” The reason being is I know people that went through ACTUAL boot camp and that is no joke or 3 hour a week deal. Real boot camp is hard and not fun.

Second, I don’t really know what I was expecting, but I was instantly pissed off on the first day when I realized that we are basically doing calisthenics in a parking lot. It is not rocket science, we run, do pushups, squats, burpees, jumping jacks, sprints, etc. You get the picture.

Also, it is advertised as a "Boot Camp for Women” and it is being run by a man (we can call him Boot Camp Bob). So on the days when I forget my good sports bra and we are jogging I don’t feel as comfortable grabbing my boobs and holding them to my chest, as I would if it was ALL women.

One other problem is, after having completed a workout by 6:30, the rest of the day I feel it is my prerogative to eat anything and everything I want, since I already worked out. This has caused me to sort of maintain my weight since starting this program a little over 3 weeks ago.Then I hit a slump brick wall at around 2pm. It is usually when I will stop whatever I am doing and suggest a nap for Little One. Where I can sit and fold clothes while he sleeps.....HAHHAHAHAHAHHAAAA. Where I can tell people I am being productive but actually take a nap with Little One!

Boot Camp Bob is a nice enough guy. He is pretty mild mannered and not too verbal. He tells us what to do and we do it. One of the women there brings a boom box and her ipod for music. She is a success story for the program already having lost 30 lbs. All the women who are doing the program are great. They seem very nice, all different shapes ages and sizes and all in varying degrees of physical shape. I can’t say that I have gotten to know any of them more than casual small talk. We all show up, at the ass crack of dawn, do our workout for an hour and go home.

The positives about the program are, well, it’s serving it’s purpose. I am working out 3 days a week for an hour each day. I attribute that more to the women that I go with to the workout more than the actual workout. As I said before, if I was not being depended upon to show up buy someone else, I would find any excuse not to go. The workout is also making me stronger. I have not done this much zoned toning since I was much younger. Also it is good to be outside breathing fresh air early in the morning, even if it is in a parking lot.

The Hub has made it enjoyable too. He woke me on the first day of “Boot Camp” playing ‘Reveille’ on his iPad, complete in an army shirt, army hat, drill sergeant sunglasses and his underwear. He never ceases to make me laugh.

Now we were given an option to sign up again for another 3 months (again, discounted). Like any relationship, I have to make a decision if the commitment is worth it. I have to figure out the pros and cons. Boot Camp Bob and I have to have a talk. Is this relationship headed in the right direction? Possibly. Although, I can find plenty of positives, I am going to cut my ties with Boot Camp Bob. I can’t help thinking that if I was working out at 5:30 every morning and doing Yoga or Zumba, I would be much happier. It’s not fair to be in a relationship thinking of someone else. So, Boot Camp Bob, It’s not you, it’s me. I surely hope we can still be friends.

ADDENDUM: I mean no offense to those that this program works for. And it works for many. It is really just me and my mental state! The instructor is degreed, obviously knows what he is doing and provides a balanced exercise program. I know that the friends that I go with are signing back up. AND Pilates is not strictly for snobs but in my experience in the year 2000, they were snobs.