Oy! Motherhood.

who are you?

what i love about these moments and hours and days of these children’s lives is the continuing discovery of who they are. i remember a certain point in the boy’s little baby life when i realized that i was just beginning to know him as a person. i think most of us have this idea that we should know exactly who our children are the moment they are born, that we should have this deep, core understanding of how they will face the world because we carried them for nine months in our bodies. the truth, at least for me, is that in many ways we are perfect strangers and it takes months and months to get a clear picture of the person emerging from the body of the baby i helped create.

the girl is almost a year old and her personality is blooming at an astounding rate. she is silly and tries hard to make us laugh. she loves animals and knows instinctively to be gentle. she is feisty and can scream in such a way that my ear drums crackle when she is being made to do something she’d rather not (like getting dressed for the day). it’s hard not to laugh when she sticks her tiny fists in the air, screams, and shakes because she is so mad. she is adventurous and climbs and explores everything. she prefers roughhousing to cuddling and will jump fearlessly in if the boy and J are rolling around on the floor together. she adores her daddy in a way that only a girl can, and she always wakes up with the most delightful smile on her face.

the boy continues to reveal himself in little ways. last night, for example, i was getting dinner on the table. J was late and we decided to eat without him. i gave the boy his plate and then started cutting the girl’s food. the boy said to me, “mom, aren’t you going to eat with us?” “of course!” i said. “well, then, i’ll wait for you.” i thanked him for his kindness and he said that he wouldn’t have waited when he was four, but now that he’s five he’s waiting. he adores his sister and loves to play with her. last night they were chasing each other around our kitchen island, the girl squealing with delight every time the boy snuck up behind her and yelled out “BOO!” he continues to be sensitive and empathetic but has learned to stand up for himself when necessary. he is a beautiful, caring, loving human being who sees things with such clarity of spirit that he has become my example for how to exist in the world.

i am grateful for these little people, whoever they turn out to be.

the anvil of christmas past

it' hanging there. i can feel it just hovering above my head waiting to crash down and ruin yet another christmas and it's giving me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

i used to love christmas for all the reasons that people love that holiday and i looked so forward to being able to share it with my children if and when i had them. visions of baking and chocolate making danced in my head. and the looks on their wee faces when they discover their booty on christmas morning! i couldn't (still can't) wait. but J is not so good with christmas for two reasons. first, his family made it a terrible holiday for him because they are all crazy. secondly, he is usually depressed over the holidays because it was always a stressful family time for him but also because his parents both died around thanksgiving. for some unknown reason we're usually able to slide right through thanksgiving, but in the weeks leading up to christmas a pall falls over him and by extension, me. last year he was severely depressed throughout the month of december. buying christmas gifts for kids and making gingerbread houses and cookies just isn't nearly as fun when your partner spends all his time scrooging around about how much money is spent and how sad he is.

heading into this holiday season i had higher hopes because he's been stable nearly a year and he's on a new cocktail of meds. the new job has been going well too. but last week they said they're going to stop paying for health insurance starting in january, he had some policy holders cancel, and the holiday got in the way of making new sales (seriously, who is thinking about buying long term care insurance over a holiday?), so the anvil has moved silently into place. hovering. waiting. just yesterday that familiar bad feeling settled over me and i could feel it in every cell of my body. i tried to shake it off thinking something, some smell or sound or action had reminded me of last year. it seemed like there was something intangible squeezing me.

today there is a part of me that can't shake it. his hands were trembling this morning and when i asked about it he said he's got a lot on his mind. is it a bad sign? most likely. but maybe not. but probably. there's a part of me that is slowly closing down and shutting him out. pushing him away so i won't feel the sting as deeply as i did the last time. i've been trying to avoid even thinking about it because giving it time in my head allows it to settle more deeply into my body, making everything feel tingly in a terrible, foreboding way.

i have the children to think about and i wish i knew how to protect them from the anvil that could strike at any moment, wiping out their holly jolly christmas in the flash of an eye. telling scroogey boy to knock it off doesn't help much. it's just simply too much a part of his m.o. he can't seem to move beyond it in any way. i mean, who gets upset about spending $34 on a christmas tree? or $40 on wreaths for the front windows? i understand, internet, i understand that money is tight and that people have cancelled, but for chrissakes, it's christmas. can we not just forget about all that crap for a couple of weeks and enjoy what we do have? it's not as though we're starving over here. we live in one of the most expensive places in the country, but we're doing it. we're not broke. and we have a lot to be thankful for. i just wish he could see it. because then the anvil might just disappear. and i might, i just might, start trusting this holiday business again.

overheard at the thanksgiving dinner table

the first five minutes of the meal are always chaotic. there are no prayers or utterances of thanks giving, but choruses of "pass the potatoes," "who's got the gravy," and "send me some white meat." [i should call hasbro, those sound like fabulous board games!] this year someone made a lame attempt to give thanks. it was esther. she said, "thanks to the cook who made all this food!"

she was the cook.

so laurie said, "you just want all the attention. you should thank god for making you healthy enough to make the food!"

noises of protestation ensued and laurie headed for one of the kitchen cabinets, hand to forehead, muttering, "thank god for prescription medications...."

i do believe that was the highlight of the afternoon.

the karma of stuffing

is such that if you insult your eighty-seven year old grandmother's stuffing, even if it does contain sliced, canned black olives and american cheese, you will drop the entire everloving pyrex dish of stuffing you made to be eaten in the other, most hideous stuffing's stead, in the driveway as you unload your kids and all their eighty-seven million non-essential-essential items. shattered glass will be strewn hither and yon and your gorgeous, tasty, most eagerly awaited stuffing of the year will sit in a lump on the black asphalt. and you will whine to your husband, "can't we save soommmmmmmmmme of it? i mean, just some?" and he will say, "honey, have you lost your mind? glass. and assphalt."

and you will be so, so, so sad that he will take pity on you and clean up the entire mess.

and you will whine all the way home about how much better it could have been if only....

happy turkey day!

today we will all pile in the car, cranberry relish, pecan sausage stuffing, and a boatload of children's toys and accoutrements in tow, and head up to visit the girls for the annual thanksgiving feast. my grandmother does most of the cooking and hauls ass up and down the basement stairs with all sorts of goodies, including a 20 pound turkey, because her sister won't let her cook in the upstairs oven. i'm not entirely sure why that is. usually it has something to do with money, but since the downstairs oven is gas that theory wouldn't really fly this year. they'll have all the usual--turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, corn (from a can, of course), cranberry sauce (can again), gravy, gravy, and more gravy. i bring my own stuffing because theirs is, well, yuck. and the cranberry relish is just one of those things we can't live without on thanksgiving. there will be no pumpkin pie because clo doesn't like it. nevermind the other twenty of us. and my cousin will bring her gigantic dog who likes to use my arm as a chew toy and stumbles stupidly all over the kids. there never really is too much additional excitement, just the usually yelling and carrying on typical of a large portuguese family. they'll ask J to carve the bird and he will dutifully oblige while they worry over their horribly dull knives.

one year the kitchen sink backed up and that made for some extra merriment as blame was passed like a hot potato (which, incidentally is what everyone thought caused the back up, but i was there, i saw there were no potatoes sent down the drain).

this year again, no doubt, everyone will stuff themselves full in ten minutes and then lie around complaining about how stuffed they are.

a full report will be forthcoming.

a girl, a man, and two red cars

so yesterday while toodling around the grocery store [yeah, um, okay....] i made the acquaintance of a guy with a cane and a bright white moustache. he stood behind us later in line and asked if it would be okay if he said hello to the girl. i was shocked. i mean, who ever asks that? usually i'm snarling at moth ball-y old ladies who are hacking up half a lung while touch, touch, touching my little cherub's face and hands, as i ponder what fresh hell will be visited upon us following the incubation period for whatever nastiness is lodged in their respiratory system. they don't ask. they just descend. so this guy was a breath of fresh air. and he didn't touch, he just talked. from a good distance. he was, in fact, quite lovely.

we checked out and went on our merry way. i loaded the hatch full of groceries, plucked the girl from the cart, and strapped her, screaming, as usual, into her seat. off i drove and as i rounded the corner i saw another red prius parked one row over. i looked back again and there was the man with the cane, opening the hatch of that same red prius. he caught my eye, gave me the thumbs up, and practically jumped up and down, cane and all. i smiled and waved and drove off.

this morning as i was pulling out of the gas station [wait for it...]

there he was again, driving in the other direction, smiling and waving like an old friend.

so was it the car or is there just something there that made us feel like kindred spirits but the car cemented it? i will admit that i'm beginning to feel as though i should invite him to dinner the next time i see him. this little story could get interesting.

huis clos

sorry, too funny to let go....

(no idea to whom to give credit for this photo--there was no name attached, but suffice it to say it's not my work)

mothering as a 'hood

in my dream last night [woo hoo! a dream! which means that yes, i slept long enough to have and remember one!] mothering as a 'hood was my subconscious version of it taking a village to raise a child. i guess. that's the way i remember it anyway. and i woke up with all these thoughts about collective mothering and friendships and everything and i said to myself, "self, remember this so you can blog about it." and now i've forgotten most of it, so that's that. unless you want me to just make something up?

my agent has calmed the fuck down, which is nice, but hello? did someone forget to tell her that she gets paid to deal with these sorts of things? and that in the grand scheme of life it's not a problem, it's just a problem? i mean, sheesh, lighten up already. if it's the difference between a crappy book and a good book i think the publisher will prefer a little lateness (and we're talking about a matter of 2 weeks here). whatever.

this, apparently, is a newsy post today.

this morning we had to be in the car by 7:30 so we could make it to the boy's physical at 8am. he's all good. 43.5 inches, 44 lbs, bp 80/40, hr 72, eyesight perfect, depth perception spot on, and he had an MMR shot, which he did not appreciate. they do this thing, too, where they insist i hold the boy on my lap while pinning his arms to his sides. i opposed this maneuver because it seems like it causes more stress than it relieves, but they insisted that i do it for their safety. wtf? should they not listen to the parent when it comes to something like this? or do most parents underestimate the craziness of their own children? he took the shot like a champ anyway and we skedaddled out of there by 8:45 and got him to school by 9:20. i felt like i'd already done 100 things by the time the girl and i got home. what i want to know, though, is why we were able to get out the door a full hour earlier than usual with absolutely no stress.

the girl is a pistol. she loves to stick her tongue out at me. she throws her tiny wee self into big piles of pillows and yells "boo!" while covering portions of her face in a big effort to play peek-a-boo. balloons make her very very happy. so does going on the swing in the back yard. she was swinging and squealing with delight yesterday afternoon. she and the boy were swinging side by side, which i've been told is called "double dating." obviously things have either changed since i was five or i was a social outcast who never had the opportunity to learn playground terminology. i'm guessing it was the latter.

well, la-dee. the publisher just emailed saying he loves the first two chapters (all he's read so far) and no worries at all on the two final chapters being late. suck that agent lady!

i bring you

the cake.

the boy decorated it himself. that's the ferry and martha's vineyard made out of lego-like candies (they taste like pez). the cars are chocolate. the rocks fully edible, a surprise in every one. there is, of course, a train, in the bottom right corner. it's off on a siding, about to go in the water.

after the boy explained his creation to his friends one of them yelled out, "cool! i didn't know there was a race track on martha's vineyard!!"

the party was utter chaos. children running and screaming and climbing on coffee tables. do they do these things at home? i don't remember parties being so insane when i was a kid. every single child got the tail in exactly the right place on the donkey (file that under "things that make you go hmm."), and the pinata dumped a ridiculous amount of candy on their wee heads.

two hours later they left loaded down with hot wheels goodies and hopped up on sugar. a good time was had by all.

most fun of all was playing the mexican train gameas a family after everyone had gone home.

*****[update]***** this has nothing to do with the party, but i need to report that the girl is really walking now. actually, i think she even ran yesterday. one day nothing, the next, running!

five

tomorrow the boy turns five.

five.

when i kissed his sweet little face tonight i said, "tomorrow morning when you come downstairs to see me you'll be five!" his eyes grew wide and he started to jump up and down as if he'd momentarily forgotten that the big event approaches. of course he hasn't stopped talking about it for weeks and weeks and weeks and weeeeeeeeeksuh. and we just made and decorated twenty-four chocolate cupcakes. and i let him open a gift from his cousins.

deluxe cranky. "i'm so excited, mom, i've been wanting deluxe cranky for my whole entire life! really, i have!" five seconds later, "i looooooooooooove this deluxe cranky!" cranky whirrs and groans, his eyes move up and down. two seconds later, "this is the best birthday present EVER! i've been wanting this sooooooo much, and look it has a cargo car and cargo and watch, mom, watch!" and on and on and on. even after i left his room i could hear him talking excitedly to J about how fabulous the deluxe cranky is.

i can't believe it's been five years since i heard the single squawk that confirmed his safe arrival. i was convinced at the time that he was the singlemost wanted child on earth. that the meteor shower that night was all about him. that i could finally breaaaaaaaaaathe. there he was, fat, pink, and colicky.

tonight i said, "can you believe? five?!" and he said, "no, i can't!" "today you're four, tomorrow you're five, and you're not my baby boy anymore--you're my big boy!" he hugged me and said, "i liked when i was three the most."

in fact, four did kind of suck for him. he lost his only child status, singulair made him crazy, and his daddy was depressed throughout most of the year.

i liked three the most too, but i have high hopes for five. just yesterday i walked into the bathroom and noticed that all the foam bath letters had been arranged in the shape of a heart and below it were the letters M-O-M.