blemish

This time it came via ipod. Other times it comes on a billboard, a word or phrase screaming at me, or a certain color or a restaurant menu, but today it came through a song.
I can't listen to this song, I said. I'm really sorry. Leighann immediately moved on to the next song on the playlist. She asked no questions, and I loved her for that. The 1,539th reason she is my friend. Our conversation picked back up, and I was happy, occupied the rest of the 100 mile drive home from the beach and the dinner and visit with her parents.
Then Mr. Independent and I gave hugs, said our goodbyes, and drove away. The shaking started, heartbeat increased, and insides tumbled and rolled and warmed, no longer having the grace of distraction. The song that played briefly, hours ago, now replayed over and over and over and over and over and over in my brain cruelly reminding me that Someone Else was there before me. Someone Else was loved. Someone Else was wanted, desired. Someone Else was devastating. My heart contorted and squeezed until my face felt warm and my breath felt absent.
I managed the 35 minute drive home and managed to say prayers with Mr. Independent and managed a shower and answering emails that needed immediate attention and washing sandy clothes, but now-now that prayers have been said and clothes put in the washer and sand washed out of my salty hair, now I sit in my house nearly silent except for the washer and the fan and my newly created Vienna Teng station on Pandora and think: We've put this behind us. We've talked and talked about this. We have moved on. Things have gotten better. Except they haven't.
I know that five years, two wedding rings, and a child later it shouldn't hurt. Arguably it shouldn't have ever hurt. Things that happened in the past, Before Me, shouldn't affect the present or the future. But they do. And every now and then I'm reminded of that.
Soon he will unlock the door, and he will sit on the couch next to me and ask me about my day at the beach, and I will tell him. I will be tentative, as I always am when this comes up, and he will listen, as he always does, and not say much because he doesn't ever say much, and I will feel better, or at least I will say that I feel better. Then he will put after-sun on my pink back, and I will tell him how the drive didn't feel like any time at all and how Mr. Independent lay in the sand and said "night night" and how he squealed when the waves kissed the bottoms of his feet. Then I will fall into a restless sleep and distract myself, although not completely, not for awhile, but then I will forget, briefly, and life will continue. Until I'm reminded again.

A shore day

fuck that

I'm not sure if it was several second graders saying "shit" in class the other day or if it was Mr. Independent learning to say bird (bur!), but I've finally decided that Husband is right, and I need to stop swearing.
We were talking the other night-I was trying to describe exactly how angry a coworker had made me, but I couldn't get through it without dissolving into profanities, sort of like what happens when my parents are asked "Who is the current President?" At one point I used the word shitstorm.
Poopstorm, sweetie, say poopstorm, he corrected.
I gave him the finger. Mr. Independent laughed. But given his enjoyment of repetition, it's only a matter of time before he calls someone a cocksucker or motherfucker. While I'm sure it would be endearing-and hilarious-I guess I don't want my kid to be the kid who drops the f-bomb at daycare or in the middle of The Cheesecake Factory. I want to raise a polite, respectful child, and that starts with what I model to him.
So I'm done. Sadly. Swearing has been such a large part of my life since I was ten. I woke up one morning and for some unknown reason I decided to find out if something bad would actually happen if I said a bad word. Still safe under the covers, I whispered ass. When nothing happened, I whispered damn, and the other words followed soon after.
I have it better than what my mother went through with me. She told me recently that she knew she had to quit when I told my sister to stop her fucking crying because I'd had a really hard day. I was four.
So, I'm quitting. I am going to set a damn fine example for my boy.

Judgment, or growing a pair

We had a speaker come and talk to us at work the other day. She gave a two hour talk about parenting and told lots of stories of her own upbringing and her own experience as a parent.
After she finished speaking, I went back up to my classroom, called Husband, and started sobbing. I was barely comprehensible. We. Had a. Speaker. Said. Something. Moms who. Ship. Kids off. To daycare. My baby. Said something after. Panic attack. Crazy lady. I cried harder. Husband, understandably, asked me to slow down, start over, and tell him why I was upset.
We had a speaker. She came to talk about parenting. She made a comment about moms who "ship their kids off to daycare." I said something to her after about her comment. But cause I don't do that, I came off as a crazy lady, shaking and not breathing and having a panic attack. I'm still having a panic attack. I. Just. Want. To. Stay. Home. With. Him. I started crying again. My occasional saint of a husband listened as I cried and rambled about how I feel judged because I have to take my kid to daycare, and how I know that it's the best thing for our family but it's so hard to know that he goes and Husband leaves him and he cries, and how even though I'd probably hate being a stay at home mom, I'd still choose to do it in a second if I could. {sidenote: I'm getting all riled up again, so I must go to the kitchen and bring back reinforcements (cookies)}
Am back with cookies.
As I listened to this speaker the other day, who was obviously well-educated and well read, I didn't want to buy into what she said because of her comment. Her comment was nothing more than an item in a list of why parenting is so much tougher these days than in generations past and why kids have so many more problems these days than in generations past. I don't know that anyone else in the audience even caught that remark. But I did, and it weighed on me throughout her talk. And the whole time, I debated whether or not I should say something to her. When she asked for feedback, I decided I should grow a pair and give some polite, respectful feedback about how deeply her comment cut me.
The thing is, I'm not assertive. I try very hard to be polite and agreeable and generally just nod and smile. But I thought of my sweet boy's wails on Monday morning, his first morning back at daycare, and I thought of how I'd give anything to be able to be a stay at home mom, and I thought of how deeply it stings me and other working mamas when someone refers to daycare as "someone else raising your child." I had to give feedback.
What I wanted to say was: Thank you for your talk. It was very informative, and I loved how openly you were able to share your family's stories. I felt, however, that your comment about moms who "ship their kids off to daycare" was a little unfair. I know it's hard when we see moms who hire nannies and go play tennis and get their nails done and don't take opportunities to spend time with their children, but sometimes parents take their kids to daycare because they don't have a choice. Thank you again for spending time with us.
What came out was a little different. Thank you for talking to us. [voice shaking and cracking] One of your comments stung me a little. [deep breath] [blink back tears] Not. Everyone. Who. Takes. Their. I'm sorry. I never. Say anything to. Anyone. Like. This. Child. To. Daycare does. [deep breath] I'm a. Little nervous. I'm sorry. Some of us. Take our kids. To daycare. Because we have to. [small sob (hey, it's what I do)]. I'm sorry.
She looked really shocked. I'm sure she's not used to crazy ladies coming up and criticizing her talks. She and I talked for a few minutes, and I tried very hard to impress on her that I am not actually a crazy, overly emotional lady, that I'm just a mama who misses her child terribly and feels like a crappy mom anyway and doesn't need parent educators making comments that appear to judge mamas who have to do the daycare thing.
She apologized profusely and said she should have been more sensitive, that she was nervous as this was her first time speaking on this particular topic, gave me a hug and appeared to listen open-mindedly as I told her my issues with that attitude and that I truly wasn't crazy, it's just that being assertive is very. Difficult. For. Me.
I wish I'd been able to say my piece without coming off as a crazy crying lady, and I wish I'd been able to call Husband proud of myself for standing up for all the mamas who would give anything to stay at home but can't because the money just isn't there, and the mamas who work because they know that they are better moms because they work-and I truly believe there are lots out there-rather than calling him sobbing because I "ship my kid off to daycare until 6 p.m." and worrying that everyone who looks at me judges me and finds me lacking and unfit and worrying that I hurt this poor speaker's feelings with my criticism.
I believe that the next time she gives this talk, she won't make a flippant remark about daycare. And I'd like to think that in time, I'll grow up, I'll grow a pair, and I'll be able to assert myself in a respectful manner without coming off as a crazy lady. Someday.

Please read

First this post. Then this one.

I will not describe the emotions these posts caused in me, nor do I want to. I just want you to read.

Baby's night out, part deux

There's nothing on TV.


I think I'll go out for awhile.


Perhaps I'll grab a bite.


I'll just have one or two.


MORE!


MORE!



I don't know how that got there. Or where my shirt went.


Um, I don't think a goat was there before.



You talking to me?


I said, ARE YOU TALKING TO ME?


Bring it on, bitch.

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I think I'm going to be sick.


Passed out, finally.

For Part 1, click here.

Fun with Picasa

What my new camera can capture

Standing

Husband took me bowling yesterday. I hadn't bowled, other than on the Wii, since I went in grad school almost 5 years ago. Additionally, Husband never plans anything, never suggests doing anything that doesn't involve watching sporting events, television, or movies, so I was thrilled by his suggestion. We arrived at the bowling alley and were assigned to Lane 10. We paid for unlimited games, since Mr. Independent was having a sleepover with his Memere and Pop. Husband and I didn't take much notice of the people around us, and we started taking our turns hurling bowling balls down the aisle and occasionally knocking a pin or two down. A man from the next aisle approached us. Do you know about bowler's etiquette? he asked. We indicated our confusion. Bowler's etiquette, he repeated. Bowler's etiquette is not going at the same time as someone in the next lane. So you take turns. You take your first turn, then one of us takes our turn while you're waiting for your ball to come back. And then you go. So we'll take turns. We go, then you go. Husband and I were a little confused, and a little put off, but I told myself he was just letting us know the local customs, and I'd never want to offend the locals.
Husband and I bowled another frame or two, and we were again interrupted by the same person. You know, there are bumpers you can set up if you want, he suggested to me in a friendly, conversational tone. I guess he'd been watching me bowl between turns. I was shocked. And then-I don't know if it was the French Cosmo and glass of white wine I'd had with dinner or if something in my fairly mild-mannered personality snapped. I turned around and said, I don't really want any advice. It's my birthday, and I'm just trying to have fun.
What? It was his turn to register confusion.
I don't want any advice, I repeated. It's my birthday, and I haven't been bowling in five years. I just want to have fun. I don't want any advice, but I appreciate your kindness. Then I walked back to Husband who was completely mortified by me choosing this moment out of millions of other moments of unwanted, unsolicited advice in our five years together to stand up for myself. I apologized to Husband for embarrassing him, and we finished our first game and bowled another, although it was clear that neither of us were enjoying ourselves. It was probably clear when I said I want to go home. I just want to go home, after each turn.
I'm really not sure why I chose that moment to say something. After awhile I was able to think that maybe the a-hole was trying to be helpful, pass on the wisdom of a more experienced bowler to someone who was so obviously struggling. But I don't think that excuses his presumptive behavior. Usually by now, 12 hours later, I'd be weighted down with guilt and wondering how I could track this person down and apologize to him for my behavior. But this time I'm not sorry. I'm sorry he ruined part of a fun evening out-such a rarity for us, and I'm sorry that my behavior reflected poorly on Husband, but I'm not sorry for what I said.

Communication, or fun with yes and no questions

Now that Mr. Independent can communicate his wants and needs, parenting has become easier. Sort of. He still uses his sign language, but now he's using it in conjunction with words. His words are:
1. ball (ba!)
2. dog (daaaw-awg!)
3. book (bouh!)
4. shoes (doos!, or joos!)
5. up (uh-uh!)
6. mama
7. dadada
8. no (nay!nay!)
9. boom boom (booboo!)
10. hi
11. bye
12. more (maaaawuh!)
13. all done (aw duh!)
14. baby (bay-bee!)
15. go
Dog is by far his favorite word. EVERYTHING is daaaw-awg!: squirrels, cats, dogs, horses, goats, cars, me. More is his second favorite word. He says more while making the sign for milk or eat. He's dropped the sign for more and says more whenever he wants to eat or drink anything. When I get him out of his crib each morning, he doesn't say hi, he doesn't say mama; he greets me with a "MAAAAWUH!" that becomes more and more shrill the longer I take to get him his more. He also appears to believe that he can do things he's not allowed to do by doing them and saying "nay!nay!" while doing them. This is what he does when he tries to open cabinets, put his fingers in electrical outlets, or go to the forbidden BEHIND THE TV. He'll wander over, nonchalantly, occasionally glancing to see if I'm paying attention, wedge himself in between the wall, the TV stand, and the DVD shelf, look at me and say "nay!nay!" as he pulls wires out of the television, Wii, or DVD player.
In addition to saying words, Mr. Independent has learned to shake his head for no or nod for yes. When he shakes his head, he turns his head back and forth, rapidly with a look of fierce concentration on his face. When he nods for yes, he has that same intense look of concentration, and the top half of his body jerks back and forth. Since we've noticed these abilities, we've had some fun with Mr. Independent.
Me: Mr. I, do you love your dadada?
Mr. I: jerks body or shakes head fiercely, depending on the day, time of day, or what Husband has recently told him he can't do.
Me: Do you love your mama?
Mr. I: jerks body
Me: Do you love your Memere?
Mr. I: jerks body violently and smiles really big
Me: Do you want to go to sleep?
Mr. I: shakes head with a look of terror on his face
Me: Are you sure you don't need to go to bed? You seem pretty cranky.
Mr. I: shakes head with an angry look on his face. Shrieks.
Me: Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?
Mr. I: jerks body while shrieking MAAAAAW!
Me: Do you want your vibrator?
Mr. I: jerks body and points to some indiscernible spot where he thinks the vibrator is.
We're going to visit my in-laws tomorrow, and when we go on car trips, I like to spend some time prepping Mr. Independent for the journey. The first time, our conversation was as follows:
Me: Do you want to see Grandma tomorrow?
Mr. I: jerks body
Me: Do you want to see Grandpa tomorrow?
Mr. I: jerks body
Me: Do you want to see Aunt Jen tomorrow?
Mr. I: jerks body
Me: Do you want to see your seven-year old cousin?
Mr. I: jerks body
Me: Do you want to see Uncle P.? (sidenote: Mr. Independent has an inexplicable adverse reaction to Uncle P. every time he sees him)
Mr. I: jerks body, twice, stops, hesitates, then shakes head violently
Me: Um, okay.
The next time we talked about our upcoming trip, the conversation was a little different.
Me: Do you want to visit Grandma tomorrow?
Mr. I: shakes head
Me: Do you want to see Grandpa tomorrow?
Mr. I: shakes head
Me: Do you want to see Aunt Jen tomorrow?
Mr. I: hesitates, then shakes head
Me: Do you want to see Seven Year Old Cousin?
Mr. I: jerks body
Me: Do you want to see Uncle P.?
Mr. I: shakes head violently
Me: Do you want to see Mama tomorrow?
Mr. I: shakes head violently
Me: Um, okay, so just to clarify, you only want to see Seven Year Old Cousin tomorrow.
Mr. I: jerks body and smiles
Sometimes I like to ask him questions that will be very mean in just a few months.
Me: Do you want a dog to come live at your house with you?
Mr. I: jerks body violently and says "daaaw-awg!"
Me: Um okay, well, that ain't happening. Do you want a baby to come live at your house with you?
Mr. I: jerks body and gets a look of hopefulness on his face
Me: Okay, well, good luck with that one. Do you want a monster to come live at your house with you?
Mr. Independent's answers have evolved on this one. He initially indicated yes, then indicated confusion, and now consistently answers no.

Me: Okay, Sweet Boy, one last question. Who is talking to you right now?
Mr. I: DAAAAW-AG!

14 things that have gone wrong lately

Disclaimer: I know this post is mopey. I know it's selfish and unattractive. I'm attempting to make myself feel better.

1. My hard drive on my beloved red laptop died.
2. Said hard drive is likely beyond repair.
3. Said hard drive contained important photographs, papers, documents, playlists.
4. I broke my river shoes while in the river. Have no money to replace river shoes.
5. Due to lack of river shoes, I sliced the bottom of my foot on a rock or shell.
That was on Sunday. It still hurts today, and it's a really tiny cut.
6. I have obnoxious shower doors that Husband is irrationally attached to. They are
disgusting. Spent 30 minutes scrubbing them with no discernible change.
7. I am returning to work on August 18.
8. My attempts to prepare to return to work were thwarted, twice, today.
9. My nose piercing looks like a zit, and my hair is awful.
10. Husband was in a bad mood today.
11. I had car trouble yesterday, and I couldn't get in touch with Husband. I ended up
cutting a piece of my car off in 95 degree weather with second grade scissors
while Mr. Independent screamed in the back seat.
12. Returned home from the river to find mold growing on Mr. Independent's ceiling.
Again.
13. I am turning 28 on Sunday.
14. There is a chance that I will have to spend some time this weekend with some
family members I like to pretend don't exist. They hurt me pretty deeply, but my
parents have asked me not to make waves and stay silent on the issue.

So I'm sitting here throwing myself a huge pity party. I've been walking around all mopey-like for the last couple of days or lying curled on the couch, the bed, or the floor in the fetal position telling myself that these things are not such a big deal. They will work themselves out, and at the end of the day, my family's healthy, we have food and a roof over our heads and can't I just be grateful for that. I tend to fall apart and/or flip out when things go wrong. I have a really hard time handling kinks in plans and setbacks. But I didn't lose it this time. I've just been a bit zombielike, unresponsive, mopey, not answering the phone, even though I know that hearing about someone else's life would undoubtedly make me feel better and less like a crappy friend (sorry, Leighann). Then I drove to Target.
The song "Back on the Chain Gang" came on the radio, and I started sobbing when I heard the line "Those were the happiest days of my life," and I realized exactly how upset I am over losing my hard drive, and everything else that is going awry these days just compounds it.
My hard drive had (has?) all of my photographs from Europe, graduate school, and when Husband and I were dating, not to mention all of my pictures of Mr. Independent. Initially I was upset about losing the pictures of Mr. Independent, but I realized tonight, in my car, that I'm ultimately upset about losing those pictures from Europe and graduate school, losing my thesis, losing the IMs (remember AIM?) that Husband and I exchanged during the early days of our relationship. While I understand that they are just things, they hold more meaning than that for me. Those things are a composite of the happiest point in my life so far, a part of my life that I long for every single day with a longing deeper than anything I've ever in my life experienced. It's not like I dwell on New York or graduate school, but I miss it. I miss the people that were in my life, temporarily, and that are gone from my life forever. I miss the excitement of the city, the simple blessing of being in school, full-time, the newness of my relationship with Husband. Those things that were on my hard drive represent a different time in my life, one where I was happier, more hopeful, and where I had so much potential and possibility abounded. Those things represent a freedom I no longer have because I have a child, a husband, a mortgage, and a job. I'm not ungrateful for that, but in choosing that particular path, I gave up the life I had and the freedoms I had. I rarely looked at the pictures or the IMs, but I knew they were there if I wanted them. It's almost like they were proof that this other me existed-the one who was optimistic with disposable income, friends, and freedom. Now that they're gone, I don't have anything other than fuzzy memories to remind me that I was fully happy once, therefore I can be fully happy again. Someday.
And so I cried, hard, on the way to Target. I pulled myself together because I certainly was not going to be the girl who cries in her car in the parking lot. Then I came home and realized what it was that I wanted, what would make me feel better.
I wanted my husband. I wanted him to turn off the TV (thus indicating that I am, in fact, more important than the World Series of Poker) and say, Let's go to Bruster's. Or give me a hug with the TV off, or earlier this afternoon take Mr. Independent and go to the fundamentalist grocery store or the neighborhood flower shop and buy me red roses or pink roses. No one's ever bought me roses before. I wanted him to tell me he'd take the shower doors off tomorrow and why don't I go and buy a shower curtain and while I'm at it a landline so that I have a better chance of getting in touch with him should I have an emergency again. I wanted all of that without having to say all of that. I wanted him to understand, to just know.
But I know that he doesn't understand; he doesn't just know, and I believe that the understanding, the just knowing, doesn't actually exist. So I retreated to my purple bedroom, lay on the bed, and quietly cried alone.
Soon, I will emerge from my purple bedroom, hand the computer over to Husband, and go take a shower as hot as I can tolerate, and when I am done, it will be nearly midnight, almost a new day with new possibilities and new opportunities to be better, to remedy what's gone wrong lately, and it will be time for my pity party to be over and time for my sucking it up to begin. I am sure everything will be okay, but right now, very little is okay, and for my own sanity, I have to acknowledge that.

PSA

My Public Service Announcement for the day:
Go back up whatever is on your hard drive. Do it now, please. Thank you.