Monthly Archives: May 2016

For the Hubs

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For the Hubs

I adore my husband. He will likely never see this post so I’m doing this just for the pure joy of it, no brownie points here. We met in April of 1996 at an alternative rock bar in Philly named FUBAR. It was lust at first sight. He wore a Marvin the Martian watch and he had swagger, so much swagger. He has a smile that can melt icebergs but he was far too handsome and well traveled for me to get my hopes up so I played it cool. Indifference is your friend single ladies, just don’t take it too far. So this is my modern day version of a mixed tape.

This song played in heavy rotation on the way home that night. I declined his offer to go back to the house he rented with his friends.  Instead, I made the long trek back to Belmar, New Jersey  where I had a one bedroom apartment on Ocean Avenue. By the way, I highly recommend living in a resort town in your mid twenties.

Counting Blue Cars –

 

We took things slow and he had the nerve to move to Italy for a job within a few months of meeting each other. He did invite me to visit him there, which I did. I brought a friend though because that is what a girl does when she is trying to stop herself from falling in love with a man who seems elusive. Resistance was futile, I fell hard. But I kept that shit tucked in….Fiona Apple understood what I was going through….

 

That visit left me with a constant craving so yes, this too –

 

And of course I will never forget moshing to this in some club in Turino, Italy –

 

As I am going down memory lane I realize I can not possibly list 20 years of songs in one post. These were some of the early day songs and my feelings for the man have not dimmed. Still so crazy in love (oops another song)

 

Hmm……noticing that this is a very eclectic mix and yes still very much in love. Lucky girl.

Sometimes I Suck at Parenting……

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Sometimes I Suck at Parenting……

Deep breathe…..sometimes I suck at parenting. It’s a fact. I’m human, flawed, impatient and just plain don’t have my shit together every minute of the day. I would love to blame my own parents for this because 1) they sucked as parents (WAY more than me) and 2) introspection is hard.

My latest bout of mediocrity (OK failure) happened last night. It happened late at night when patience reservoirs were low or perhaps empty. My daughter wanted a special breakfast out this weekend just the two of us. Son got wind of this and wanted in. At 11:17pm I wasn’t able to negotiate this emotional minefield without casualties. I tried to postpone the decision knowing that some decisions are best made when well rested. Daughter couldn’t do that pushed and pushed for an answer. So I asked her….”what would you have me do – hurt your feelings by not going or hurt his feelings by excluding him”. I described it as the lose-lose situation that it was and determined that no one would go out to breakfast. This resulted in many tears on her part….impatience on my part and eventually a heart felt conversation. It was emotionally exhausting and I felt like a bad mom. I did promise to spend one on one time with my daughter but at a different venue. That seemed like the best compromise. You know compromise – no one is really happy but it seems somewhat fair, ugh.

My girl is going through a phase right now where she wants to spend a lot of one on one time with me. Of course that shifts immediately if a better offer comes along  and I am fine with getting placed on hold so she can spend time with friends. My issue is I have two children and I need to be mindful of how so much time spent with one child impacts the other. So I just keep talking to them individually and encourage open communication (preferable before 10pm). It’s a juggling act and did I mention I’m not good at juggling. Multitasking emotional situations, it’s difficult.

I am aware that these children that I adore with my entire being will be gone within the next decade. Off to their own lives to parts yet to be determined. I will not have these late night soul searching conversations. They won’t always show me their raw emotions….these hiccuped conversations are a gift. I probably won’t always be able to conjure up an image when they mention the name of a friend, classmate or colleague. They won’t always have room for me in their lives and that is the nature of the parenting beast. It makes me equal parts sad and grateful. Somebody please slow this train.

Bomb Squad Mom

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Bomb Squad Mom

It’s that delightful time of year again. Everyone has mentally checked out of school but we have to send the kids anyway because, rules. It happens every year sometime between spring break and whenever the weather gets nice, kids lose their minds. All of them, even the nice compliant kids. The school cafeteria takes on a “Lord of the Flies” atmosphere. It’s nearly impossible to keep track of all of the important dates and forms in a flurry of end of the year activities.

The home routines also take a nose dive. I double dog dare you to tell me you are as vigilant in May as you are in September…..I’m looking at you parents. I am a tiger Mom in the fall by late spring I’m more indoor declawed house cat. Bed time slips from 8:30 to 9 to 9:30 to – hey kids turn the lights off when you go to bed Momma needs her ZZZZZZs. Kidding those buggers still want me to tuck them in.

The later bed time makes the morning routine oh so pleasant though. My morning wake ups are met with grunts and groans and I know at least one of my kids fought the urge to through a stuffie at me this morning. My daughter is the tough one at the moment. She is a typical tween girl and is perhaps ever so slightly mentally unstable at times. The mood swings are of biblical proportion. One minute she wants to cuddle and the next minute is all exorcist 360 degree head spin.

During these times I feel like I am on the Mom Bomb Squad. I have a set time period in which to get her out the door and on to the bus preferably without an explosion. 19 1/2 more days.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mother’s Day is Hard……

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Mother’s Day is Hard……

Mother’s Day is hard for me.  My mother lives close by in a small house that I bought for her. It’s in a retirement community and is a 10 minute drive from me. And it is kind of a remarkable thing given our history. Let’s be clear though, I mostly bought the house for me, not her. I need to be OK with myself after she passes.

My mother has been mentally unstable my entire life. As a young child I watched her drink alcoholically, drive drunk, and create drama. There were the standard saturday morning thrashings if my brother or I woke her up too early. If I’m honest, my brother took the brunt of that. I would scurry away and he would try to reason with her, smack. When I was in first grade she was brushing my hair and got so frustrated with me that she hit me hard on the forehead, which caused a bump and a surprising amount of blood. I was told to say I walked into the door so mommy wouldn’t get in trouble. Most of the abuse was mental. She would routinely say “I wish you were never born”. That’s hard to reconcile as a child, hell it’s hard to type that now.

It was just the three of us – my mother, twin brother and I. My parents divorced when we were two years old. We saw our father on a regular basis until we were moved out of state at 8 years old.This move followed a custody battle between our parents and as soon as the ink was dry from the case our mother moved us to Florida with her charismatic and somewhat insane boyfriend. So we went from 3 to 4 for one drama filled year.

I remember crossing the state line in a red convertible Cadillac “Welcome to Florida – The Sunshine State”. It was pouring and the irony or perhaps it was foreshadowing was not lost on me. That year was filled with insanity and contradictions. We moved four times in 10 months and went to two different school districts. There were snakes and palmetto bugs, lizards and a trip to Disney. We had a 40-foot boat and I learned to fish and went snorkeling, it wasn’t all bad.

The bad was really bad though.The relationship between my mother and her boyfriend was volatile. I saw him beat her. I listened to countless loud, uncontrollable arguments. At one point my mother left with my brother to go back to New Jersey. I was left in Florida with a family that we barely knew.  They had rented one of the houses we had lived in and they had 5 kids, I was 9 years old.Who does that? Who leaves their 9 year old girl in another state with strangers for a month. A desperate crazy person, that’s who.

My mother came back in about a month and was promptly hospitalized after a suicide attempt. I was sent to a foster home for a week. Soon after my mother had another breakdown and destroyed the place we were living in. I watched her get arrested and placed in the back of a police car. A few days later I was taking my first ever plane ride back to New Jersey, alone.  My brother and I stayed with our grandparents for the next year until mom could get a place for the three of us.

The roller coaster continued throughout my formative years.Mother continued to drink and spoke of suicide often. Each day when I got home from school I would walk into every room in our apartment. Honestly, I did not connect the dots on this behavior until I was an adult, but I was looking for my mother’s body. There were also plenty of nights when I found her passed out on the floor with the telephone cord wrapped around her or in the bathroom. In between there was lots of yelling, uncertainty, acid laced gossip and talk of bankruptcy. I would be filled with panic when I heard my mother’s footsteps coming home at night, we never knew what to expect.

The high level of dysfunction continued until 1983. That year I was sent to rehab after a brief but intense bout of teenage rebellion. My mother had just gotten sober and once again introduced an insane man into our lives. Eventually that union caused the original three to be scattered in different living situations. My year consisted of institutions – including a cult working farm which portrayed itself as a recovery half way house. My brother lived with a friend’s family and mom couch surfed. The three of us never shared the same roof again – my brother and I were 15.

I grew up fast out of necessity, with little familial guidance. I learned how to “adult” in AA. Truly the 12 steps are a nice road map for life and I sure as shit wasn’t getting solid pointers at home. I learned about taking responsibility for my actions and my emotions. I became financially independent while I was a teenager and harnessed a strong work ethic. I put myself through college and really have done OK for myself despite the enormous odds stacked against me.

So how is it that after the shit storm that was my childhood am I able to care for my mother in a way that she never did for me? I don’t know maybe I get the illness part of mental illness. I mean if she had cancer or lupus I wouldn’t abandon her. I know it isn’t the same because the cancer patient doesn’t typically destroy others with their narcissistic ways, but I do know this, the woman is not well. So for the past 20 years or so I have managed to find a balance between compassion and self preservation.

So once again I will opt for the funny Mother’s Day card and some flowers, maybe a meal out for mom. I will not blubber on about how wonderful she is or post pictures on Facebook of smiling faces. I don’t do fake but I can do compassion.

 

 

 

 

Wrinkles, Zits and Hot Flashes…..Oh My!

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Wrinkles, Zits and Hot Flashes…..Oh My!

I’m at the tender crossroads of life somewhere between; the downward slide into decrepitude and moody perimenopausal bitch on wheels. It’s lovely and by the way gents you may want to look away, shit is about to get real. Very real in a mid-life-lady-no-longer-has-fucks-to-give kind of way. You’ve been warned males – ladies lets sip some chamomile (or scotch, no judgement zone here) and bitch about the lady days for a bit.

The things I HATE about perimenopause or whatever the fuck this is:

  1. The well meaning people that tell me to sip tea and take supplements. Shut up…..please just shut up. I want chocolate, Advil, a dark room and a nap. Do not try to hug me I may punch you in the face, hard.
  2. PMS has become……apocalyptic at times. Not every month, I mean God forbid something about this female cycle be predictable. Sometimes the mood swings are INTENSE like “The Three Faces of Eve” intense.
  3. Aunt Flow. I am so sick of bleeding y’all. Really enough already. My actual period vacillates somewhere between an annoying but ever present slow faucet drip to Niagara Falls. The first three days are the worst. So bad that the “spray” from my oozing lady parts has landed in odd places – under the toilet seat, on the floor, on the G-damn wall (yup, you read that right). I doesn’t seem like the laws of physics would allow for this level of splatter but I assure you it is the truth.  There have been times when I just wanted to put the yellow crime scene tape around my bathroom and call in the experts for clean up.
  4. Hot Flashes. I have only experienced these during the day on a few occasions and it’s quite impressive when it happens. One time the heat started on the back of my neck and I suddenly found myself with a literal hot head, sweat and all. What physical activity brought this on….uh, none. I was typing at my desk when all of a sudden…..
  5. Night Sweats is the asshole cousin of Hot Flashes. While I haven’t spent much time with Hot Flashes…..Night Sweats and I go steady. I sleep with that bitch every night, right next to my husband…..because I am a whore like that. Seriously, if you haven’t experienced this pleasure yet here’s a description: you awake in a head soaked puddle of your own bodily fluid (sweat), drenched pillow, hair like Medusa. The cure – go pee for the third time that night, come back to bed and flip that pillow over. Repeat this cycle however many times you pee in a given night until your pillow has turned into an overflowing sponge….then replace the pillow or the the pillow case….or steal your husband’s pillow if necessary…..because, men.
  6. Sleep Disturbances – Better known as insomnia and this little motherfucker is the worst. There is a reason why sleep deprivation has been used as a form of torture because………it is actually a very effective form of torture. The echos of sleep loss bleed into the next day which is why insomnia is such a dick. I can usually make it through the next day sans sleep until about 4pm and then I am replaced by Satan.
  7. Urinary urgency or the need to pee (all the time) with the most intense urgency occurring just before you fall asleep. This really kicks in as I am laying my head down on the pillow (prior to a soaking due to night sweats). There have been many evenings when I have gotten out of bed to pee 4 or 5 times within 30 minutes. I know it doesn’t seem possible that one could go so frequently within such a short time span, it’s true. I promise I’m not guzzling gallon jugs of coffee or Gatorade within an hour of bedtime. It’s a head scratcher.
  8. Fatigue. How unexpected is this…..really?! You have night sweats, frequent urination, insomnia and mood swings tag teaming to kick your ass all day and night. Of course we are tired, duh! Ladies if you have ever been pregnant you probably remember the wave of exhaustion that can overwhelm you during the first trimester. I get a lesser version of this during PMS. Of course it isn’t predictable because PMS is an asshole like that.
  9. Skin changes. Here is my complete thought process on the skin changes….wrinkles and zits should not coexist on the same face, ever.
  10. Sex drive changes. This runs the gamut friends. Some ladies have no desire for sex – could be due to vaginal dryness or painful intercourse or maybe they just can’t stand their man/woman/vibrator, I dunno. My issue is on the opposite extreme. I find myself sexting my husband and taking him into the walk in closet for quickies. I am like a 12 year old boy watching girls gone wild for the first time.
  11. Aches, pains and other signs your screwed for the next 5 days. Period cramps – check. Gents if you’re reading this and why the fuck would you be reading this….imagine that you swallowed a small spiked ball and it is rolling around your innards, that’s what cramps feel like. Oh and bonus round if you get the it-feels-like-I-got-stabbed-in-the-eye headache.

No seriously, is there something sticking out of my eye? Ladies, feel free to rant in the comments.