Archive for the ‘Me Myself’ Category
March 29 2010
I was getting dressed for our weekend excursion in front of the mirror in the bathroom. Trying as best I could to hide my 20 months postpartum body and its roadmap of bumps and ripples and a gigantic crater of a belly button. There’s no denying, the 40 pounds I gained when pregnant with Abby hasn’t moved much on its own since. I keep thinking I’ll buckle down and get strict with a diet and exercise routine as soon as she stops breastfeeding, because right now I justify all the ice cream I consume by saying it’s for my daughter’s own good. At the rate we’re going though, that’s never going to happen. So I remain uncomfortable in my own skin, even though I’m in awe of what it’s produced. That’s when Jedi, never one to mince words, walks in and stands behind me by the door.
“Whoa, that’s big!”, he exclaims, pointing at my flabby, stretched out stomach.
“Well, yeah.”, I concede.
He scrunches his face and wonders out loud, “How’d it get so big?”.
“It got big when I was pregnant with you and your brother and sister. Mommy’s belly has been through a lot over the years.”
“Oh,” he pauses, contemplating. “Does that mean you’re pregnant again?”
He’s lucky I love him.
March 10 2010
Wanted: Kind, nurturing type with plenty of energy to spare. Must love kids and noise and discussing zombies with an inquisitive 6 year old. Creativity, imagination, patience, and coloring in the lines are also helpful. As are an extra pair of eyes in the back of your head.
Duties include, but are not limited to and are liable to change at any time:
- Magna Doodle sketching
- child wrangling
- cat protecting
- refereeing
- minimal cooking (cereal, macaroni ‘n cheese)
- watching copious amounts of Disney Pixar movies
- milk refilling
- constant toy pickups
- butt wiping
- playground sliding partner (weather permitting)
- potty training (not required, but those willing receive extra consideration)
- normal daily household chores (again, not required, but very appreciated)
The mother will be on the premises, but mostly unavailable except in case of an emergency. She will probably spend the majority of her time secluded in the bedroom, possibly sleeping, likely “working” from her laptop, or just staring blissfully unaware at the wall. In other words, the mother is in desperate need of a long overdue break.
Position is part-time, 5-10 hours per week on a very temporary basis, or until the mother’s batteries have been recharged and wits restored. You must be available immediately. Payment will be in the form of an endless amount of gratitude and/or cookies.
January 27 2010
I’ve been writing on the internet since the late 1990′s. I was fresh out of high school and my dad had just subscribed to AOL. After the novelty of chat rooms and instant messages wore off, I delved in to the world of webpages. I opened my first homepage using AOL’s web editor. It was horrible.
It was also around this time that I met J.
They weren’t called blogs back then, they were simply online journals hand coded in HTML. Blogger wasn’t even an idea, yet. I would get lost in a vast world of webrings and animated gifs for hours, if not days, on end. After awhile I made friends, I felt accepted. It didn’t matter that it was all in text.
At that time, I wrote about J and our relationship. I typed away my side of every argument. Exaggerations were created for the sake of drama. Mountains were formed out of tiny ant hills. I also composed angst-filled poetry and prose saturated in obtuse metaphors. I tried too hard to be deep and misunderstood, as is the story of many people at that age. It was before I was a mother, or had any real direction. To be a complete cliche, I was still in the process of finding myself.
I’ve shared a lot with the internet over the years.
And I’m still sharing. Except now, I have a better idea of who I am. Along with writing for myself, I share these snippets for my children. J and I have grown together. I don’t have time to rile up drama, or metaphors for that matter. There are those that do, and they do it well, but I’m more for the straight forward. There is little I still see of that girl I was back then, some 10 years ago. If I were to meet her today, about the only thing we’d have in common, aside from a mess of unruly hair, is that we both write on the internet.
January 19 2010
My mother isn’t known for having the best memory. If I told her something yesterday, I’ll no doubt have to repeat myself today. This goes with dates as well. Even growing up, she would get our birthdays confused. My brother’s is on the 22nd, mine on the 27th of different months, but I’ve had to correct her more often than I can count over the years. In truth, I was always a little put-off by this. If my mom can remember wheres she was when Elvis died, shouldn’t she know the moment her children entered the world? Maybe I’m biased, but shouldn’t there have been rainbows shining and hearts bursting and birds singing to mark the occasion?
I was making an appointment for the kids’ well-child checkups. The receptionist was looking up Abby’s file first, by birthdate. July 26, 2008 is what I told her.
After looking for a few seconds, she relayed, “I don’t see her here.”
We’ve been going to this pediatrician since Abby was a newborn. I know she’s there. I let her look for a few more seconds before I realized. Did I? I didn’t, did I? The 26th is Buzz’s birthday, in April. Abby’s is the 24th. Isn’t it? I even found myself wishing I had their birth certificates in front of me.
“Um, I think I gave you the wrong day. Try July 24th, 2008.”
“Yep, there she is.”
I’m sorry, Mom. I get it know. I see many long years ahead of getting these two days utterly confused. Abby and Buzz, I apologize in advance. I do love you both very much, there may have even been birds singing when you were born, but motherhood has made my brain shrivel.
January 15 2010
30 is the new 15, apparently. At least as far as acne is concerned. In fact, I think there are more pimples covering my face right now than ever before in my life. I’m not sure if this is just an age thing, or something else I can blame as an after effect of growing 3 children within 7 years. I mean, I blame everything else on pregnancy, might as well blame this, too. A constant, 50 pound heavier beer gut: PREGNANCY! Crazy rollercoaster moodswings: PREGNANCY! Weird things happening to my hair: PREGNANCY! Mt. Vesuvius-size zits: PREGNANCY! Stubbed toe: PREGNANCY! I know I haven’t been pregnant for almost 18 months, but still: PREGNANCY!
I even have zits on my neck, for crying out loud.
The smattering on my face are another story, but unless I wear a turtleneck 24/7 the protruding beast taking over my neck is tougher to cover up. Buzz, ever the kind soul, noticed this at its first sign of bright red eruption.
“Boo-boo!”, he exclaimed, brow furrowed, pointing even for good measure.
“No, not a boo-boo.”, I sighed in self-conscious reassurance.
He didn’t want to take no for an answer, though, and kept on. “Boo-boo! Boo-boo! Boo-boo!” Really, kid. It was like a taunt at this point. It’s not good for one’s already fragile self-confidence to feel like they’re being judged by a little boy who picks his nose.
“No, Buzz, not a boo-boo. It’s a pimple. You’ll learn all about them in about 10 years, OK?” Then, if you’re anything like me, you’ll wonder what the hell is going on when they show up in force another 17 years after that. But thank you very much for noticing.
