The last time I wrote, excitement and hope were percolating inside me, dripping and splashing, bc I was chatting with a chef online. I was excited bc it seemed like he and I had a whole lot in common. The day after I wrote, I was curious about why the chef hadn't responded to my last message. So I looked at his Facebook page. And... he unfriended me! It really crushed me, for about 12 hours. I'm over it now, but really? Who does that? Fool. It's totally his loss.
This week, the weather was spectacular and we spent every possible moment outside. Gumball loves playing in the dirt, making nests and houses for sticks and pinecones. Picking dandelions. If she gives me one, she says "and no moh." And she laughs about it. If I stop weeding, chasing her, and building houses, and try to lie down for a minutes in the sun, she jumps on my back and bounces around like I'm a trampoline. Sometimes I sneak some cuddles and kisses, but mostly she piles leaves on my head and tries to break my back.
Gumball has been a little... spicy lately. Full of chat, vigorous, and not at all helpful. Worst of all, she doesn't flinch when I threaten a time out, so I've had to follow through with several time outs in the past few days. She also finally discovered that she could get off her mattress at night. She likes to get out of bed, face the video monitor, and talk to me. It's very creepy. I don't know how she knows to do that. Also, I have the cheapest video monitor available, and I can't respond to her. It drives me nuts when she wants to play all night. I am wondering if it would be a good time to eliminate nap, but I so DO NOT want that to happen. I need my afternoon nap/rest/free time. Nap is the only thing keeping me from letting Gumball watch tv, I think.
Today is Mother's Day. Mother's Day is bittersweet for me. I have a mom, who deserves to be celebrated and pampered more than anyone I know. I have a toddler, who requires constant care and attention. So I do my best to make my mom feel special, and continue with my regular obligations. I know this is a Hallmark holiday, designed to make all of us feel inadequate and dissatisfied, but I so rarely hear praise about my mothering, or receive any sort of recognition for all that I do, that this holiday fills me with bitterness and sorrow for all the love and support that I don't get. I am reminded, too, of the way my ex would always buy at least a card for his ex (and current) and how I thought he was so thoughtful to treat her so well. That is bc I am a fool. All his talk about appreciating her for raising his sons. And he has never once tried to see his daughter, or done anything for her mother, me.
Despite this, I had a wonderful day today. My brother, S, was visiting. He gave me a beautiful card and told me how proud he was of me and what a good mom I am. Then my mom came over with a cake, and chocolate covered strawberries that she made for me. And presents. Then we all went out to lunch, and when we came home, we worked on the garden for a little bit, and then Gumball and I took a long nap together.
I am lucky, and blessed, to have such an amazing mother, and such a wonderful (spicy) kid.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Friday, May 3, 2013
Brain Dump
I've been neglecting the blog, in part, bc I've been busy. I decided to add another exercise class to my routine. Pilates. Or, as I like to think of it, the most pain I've ever enjoyed. The class is brutal. I love it. I am the weakest in the class, the least coordinated, and I have also fallen over several times while attempting different maneuvers. Natural born athlete here. The only result I've seen so far, however, is a vast increase in appetite. I've been starving, and all I want to do is eat and eat. Which has helped stabilize the 5 lbs I gained back. Total weight loss= 13lbs. I am determined the lose the 5lbs (again) and then continue to lose some more.
I also haven't been writing bc I had another moment where I was questioning why I write, and what it means when someone I know but prefer not to share my life with discovers this blog. Awkward. Uncomfortable. Silencing. But... as long as I am honest with, and accountable to, myself, I will continue to write. I have nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing to hide.
So, I took my Gumball to Disney World. I had never been before, and couldn't even imagine how delightful it could be. It was extremely delightful. Gumball and I had a wonderful time. We loved spending time with my aunt, C, and my glorious ex-neighbor and best friend, J. We loved the rides, and the weather, and the walking, and Gumball loved the food. She has terrible taste. I was touched, moved to tears, in fact, when Pluto spent 7-10 minutes playing with my girl. She totally fell in love with him. It sounds like a small thing, but when anyone takes the time to make my kid experience true joy, it feels like my heart becomes too big to stay inside of my body. I felt that way a lot at Disney- seeing how Gumball reacted with open-mouthed excitement about everything. She didn't cry for a week. She danced, sang, shouted "HERE WE GO!" when we boarded every ride, bus, and plane. She was patient and pleasant for the entire trip, even at 4:30am, when we had to wake to catch our flight home.
What else can I say? I've been feeling happy, but wishing I could find someone to share this happiness with. I've been emailing with someone who I wish would become more than a goddamn penpal. We'll see what happens. I'll keep you posted.
I also haven't been writing bc I had another moment where I was questioning why I write, and what it means when someone I know but prefer not to share my life with discovers this blog. Awkward. Uncomfortable. Silencing. But... as long as I am honest with, and accountable to, myself, I will continue to write. I have nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing to hide.
So, I took my Gumball to Disney World. I had never been before, and couldn't even imagine how delightful it could be. It was extremely delightful. Gumball and I had a wonderful time. We loved spending time with my aunt, C, and my glorious ex-neighbor and best friend, J. We loved the rides, and the weather, and the walking, and Gumball loved the food. She has terrible taste. I was touched, moved to tears, in fact, when Pluto spent 7-10 minutes playing with my girl. She totally fell in love with him. It sounds like a small thing, but when anyone takes the time to make my kid experience true joy, it feels like my heart becomes too big to stay inside of my body. I felt that way a lot at Disney- seeing how Gumball reacted with open-mouthed excitement about everything. She didn't cry for a week. She danced, sang, shouted "HERE WE GO!" when we boarded every ride, bus, and plane. She was patient and pleasant for the entire trip, even at 4:30am, when we had to wake to catch our flight home.
What else can I say? I've been feeling happy, but wishing I could find someone to share this happiness with. I've been emailing with someone who I wish would become more than a goddamn penpal. We'll see what happens. I'll keep you posted.
Monday, April 1, 2013
April Fool
That's me, the April fool. Except that my foolishness isn't constrained by a single month. Oh no, I'm foolish throughout the year. With no breaks or holidays.
Here's something foolish. I was watching Glee tonight, catching up, and Blaine sang this. I completely teared up. It was such a beautiful cover. Then, I had a flash of clarity. "This is Phil Collins! What the fuck!"
I'm so sappy.
Here's something foolish. I was watching Glee tonight, catching up, and Blaine sang this. I completely teared up. It was such a beautiful cover. Then, I had a flash of clarity. "This is Phil Collins! What the fuck!"
I'm so sappy.
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Father
I mention my mom a lot. Both here, and in real life. My mom is an amazing, powerful, genuine, generous person. I love her. She saved my life. She's a wonderful grandmother to my Gumball. Really wonderful. Like most people, she occasionally hurts my feelings, and annoys me. I also wish she was the sort of grandmother who'd willingly watch Gumball for a full day, or a night, maybe every couple of months. That's just not her. Oh well. She's always here when I need her.
My mom isn't perfect. When my parents divorced, when I was a child, she lost custody of me. She allowed my father to take me out of the country to live. I went many years with very infrequent visits to my mom. I missed her in a horrible, constant way, but I was too afraid of my father to even ask to see more of her. I wasn't entirely miserable all the time I lived with my dad, but I was lonely and scared a lot. I had a life that seemed idyllic. Who wouldn't want to grow up in the Caribbean? Who wouldn't want to spend their days SCUBA diving, living in a tropical paradise, surrounded by Vervet monkeys, mangoes, and beaches? I had friends, and experiences that many people just dream about. I traveled throughout the Caribbean. But in my heart, I was one scared, lonely, sad, little kid. No one has ever been happier to go off to boarding school for high school. I left home when I was 14 and never went back.
Back to my mom. This is why I think she's the best person I've ever met. She has admitted, acknowledged, and apologized for every mistake she made, for letting me leave the country, for losing custody, for everything. Everyone makes mistakes. Even serious ones. It takes a strong, honest person to own up to those mistakes, and to offer restitution. I hope I can be a person like my mom.
Except for one brief, uncomfortable, unplanned encounter in Barnes and Noble in 2010, I haven't spoken to my father since 2000.
My father wasn't nice to me. When I think about him, and how he treated me, I pathologize and try to diagnose him. Something is wrong with him. Bipolar? Drug addict? Narcissistic Personality Disorder? Schizophrenic? Fucking insane? Yes. The last label always fits. He took a lot of my childhood, and ruined it. So many of my memories of childhood involve tears and screaming. Maybe someday I'll elaborate on the hell he put me through. Mostly though, it makes me too sad to share.
I got married in 2000. To a man who is, to this day, a close friend. He gave me strength, and when my father started one of his regular tirades about my flaws, faults, and general failings (real and imagined), I told him that I refused to be spoken to like this anymore. The end.
When I got pregnant, I knew my mom would play a huge role in my baby girl's life. I wondered if I was making a mistake by not patching things up with my father. I worried and fretted about it. Forgiveness is touted as the strongest, most soul-soothing action one can take. And when Gumball's dad left, I was so desperate for help that I considered calling my father. He would have helped me. For whatever his "help" is worth. I don't think he's an evil person, just deeply rotten, and sick. It was clear to me that I would never be able to leave my darling Gumball with my father. I could never knowingly put her at risk. The price for his help was too much for me.
The balm of forgiveness is not for me.
Will my inability to forgive keep me out of heaven? I try to eliminate bitterness and lies from my heart, but I won't sacrifice my daughter to achieve some sort of cosmic state of zen. Fuck that. I'm a mom now, and I can bear any burden. Cosmic peace is not for me, but I will do everything in my power to keep my Gumball safe, and happy.
My mom isn't perfect. When my parents divorced, when I was a child, she lost custody of me. She allowed my father to take me out of the country to live. I went many years with very infrequent visits to my mom. I missed her in a horrible, constant way, but I was too afraid of my father to even ask to see more of her. I wasn't entirely miserable all the time I lived with my dad, but I was lonely and scared a lot. I had a life that seemed idyllic. Who wouldn't want to grow up in the Caribbean? Who wouldn't want to spend their days SCUBA diving, living in a tropical paradise, surrounded by Vervet monkeys, mangoes, and beaches? I had friends, and experiences that many people just dream about. I traveled throughout the Caribbean. But in my heart, I was one scared, lonely, sad, little kid. No one has ever been happier to go off to boarding school for high school. I left home when I was 14 and never went back.
Back to my mom. This is why I think she's the best person I've ever met. She has admitted, acknowledged, and apologized for every mistake she made, for letting me leave the country, for losing custody, for everything. Everyone makes mistakes. Even serious ones. It takes a strong, honest person to own up to those mistakes, and to offer restitution. I hope I can be a person like my mom.
Except for one brief, uncomfortable, unplanned encounter in Barnes and Noble in 2010, I haven't spoken to my father since 2000.
My father wasn't nice to me. When I think about him, and how he treated me, I pathologize and try to diagnose him. Something is wrong with him. Bipolar? Drug addict? Narcissistic Personality Disorder? Schizophrenic? Fucking insane? Yes. The last label always fits. He took a lot of my childhood, and ruined it. So many of my memories of childhood involve tears and screaming. Maybe someday I'll elaborate on the hell he put me through. Mostly though, it makes me too sad to share.
I got married in 2000. To a man who is, to this day, a close friend. He gave me strength, and when my father started one of his regular tirades about my flaws, faults, and general failings (real and imagined), I told him that I refused to be spoken to like this anymore. The end.
When I got pregnant, I knew my mom would play a huge role in my baby girl's life. I wondered if I was making a mistake by not patching things up with my father. I worried and fretted about it. Forgiveness is touted as the strongest, most soul-soothing action one can take. And when Gumball's dad left, I was so desperate for help that I considered calling my father. He would have helped me. For whatever his "help" is worth. I don't think he's an evil person, just deeply rotten, and sick. It was clear to me that I would never be able to leave my darling Gumball with my father. I could never knowingly put her at risk. The price for his help was too much for me.
The balm of forgiveness is not for me.
Will my inability to forgive keep me out of heaven? I try to eliminate bitterness and lies from my heart, but I won't sacrifice my daughter to achieve some sort of cosmic state of zen. Fuck that. I'm a mom now, and I can bear any burden. Cosmic peace is not for me, but I will do everything in my power to keep my Gumball safe, and happy.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Gumball Says...
Tonight, my precious, little darling Gumball asked me if Horton would fit in my bellybutton.
Horton is her 10-inch long stuffed elephant. He apparently Hears a Who.
NO FUCKING WAY, kid. And if he could, it would be entirely your fault. Grrrrr...
Doing Pilates yesterday, and Zumba tonight may have been a mistake. I am dead. The vast landscape between my thighs and ribcage is on fire. My "core," if I have one, is broken.
I was thinking about something else today too. Why I write. I write bc I want to share my limited experience. A little more than two years ago, my life ended. I hit depths of anguish, terror, sorrow, loneliness, heartbreak, and fear that I never knew existed. It was unrelenting, and I honestly have no idea how I survived. Actually I do. Sheer fucking determination and stubbornness. When my first best friend offered me a lifeline, I grabbed hold. With both hands. My mom, and my new friends in Vermont, breathed joy into my lifeless being. I learned a little during this experience. I learned to appreciate any small reason to be happy. I learned how infinitesimally small the space is in between having a happy and successful life, and complete darkness and despair. I doubled my capacity for compassion. I gained a whole new love and respect for moms, and their kindness, strength, generosity, and love. I met women who are the best friends, people, parents, dining companions, fashion consultants, vacation planners anyone could ever want.
And I hope that someone might read this, and realize that no matter how bad things are, they will always get better. Open your hands to accept lifelines, and keep plugging away. Happiness will return.
Horton is her 10-inch long stuffed elephant. He apparently Hears a Who.
NO FUCKING WAY, kid. And if he could, it would be entirely your fault. Grrrrr...
Doing Pilates yesterday, and Zumba tonight may have been a mistake. I am dead. The vast landscape between my thighs and ribcage is on fire. My "core," if I have one, is broken.
I was thinking about something else today too. Why I write. I write bc I want to share my limited experience. A little more than two years ago, my life ended. I hit depths of anguish, terror, sorrow, loneliness, heartbreak, and fear that I never knew existed. It was unrelenting, and I honestly have no idea how I survived. Actually I do. Sheer fucking determination and stubbornness. When my first best friend offered me a lifeline, I grabbed hold. With both hands. My mom, and my new friends in Vermont, breathed joy into my lifeless being. I learned a little during this experience. I learned to appreciate any small reason to be happy. I learned how infinitesimally small the space is in between having a happy and successful life, and complete darkness and despair. I doubled my capacity for compassion. I gained a whole new love and respect for moms, and their kindness, strength, generosity, and love. I met women who are the best friends, people, parents, dining companions, fashion consultants, vacation planners anyone could ever want.
And I hope that someone might read this, and realize that no matter how bad things are, they will always get better. Open your hands to accept lifelines, and keep plugging away. Happiness will return.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Catch Up
Remember that time when I vowed to stop bitching, and predicted that this might possibly impact my blogging output?
Yeah. Apparently when I'm not bitching, I have nothing to say. Nothing interesting, anyhow.
So, let me catch y'all up. (Resounding silence.) Dude! I look at the page views. I know someone must be reading this, right? For the love of all things superficial, leave a comment, will you, please? Ok, thanks.
Tonight, I tried a Pilates class. My diet has gone into the toilet. Sort of. I've been a whole lot less concerned about staying under calories. Consequently, I've gained back 3 pounds. Bringing my total loss to 15lbs. Pretty good, but I still want to get back to losing weight. Honestly, I think it has to with the fact that no one is seeing me naked anymore. Mr. Bond was very good for my diet. Anyhow, Pilates. My "core" is trembling still. So freaking hard. I'm going to try to add a class to my weekly routine. Let's see how that goes. I can still be superfat, but with a core of steel. I'm ok with that. I may not be able to make it up the stairs tonight though, which is less cool.
Dating: man, dating is weird and sucky. I've been emailing with several people. Two of note: the most handsome and perfect man in the world, and another army guy. Mr. Perfect is young, built, charming, sweet, and loves kids. He was a nude model in college (for art classes) and is a successful artist. Swoon. He's perfect. Too perfect for me, I fear. Army guy is finishing out a career in the Special Forces. He is handsome, and stern, and we've been emailing since Mr. Bond checked out. His messages are thoughtful and caring, and he is very proper about not being suggestive with me, which I kind of appreciate. He claims to have feelings for me though, and I feel like anyone who claims to have feelings without first being together, is basing their feelings on their own assumptions, and their own hopeful projections. It makes me uncomfortable, but at the same time, it's sort of sweet.
Gumball: the kid is a ticket. She's inquisitive, sweet, hilarious, and so smart. She is taking a gymnastics class with one of her toddler buddies, and spends most of the class running away from me and ignoring what the teacher tries to get her to do. But she adores the trampoline, or the "run and jump" as we call it. She passionately loves all babies, and always asks me "why is that baby crying?" when she hears wailing. She is gentle and sweet with babies too, and only tries to pile several toys on top of them, in an offering of true love. She wolfs down boxes of seaweed, begs for gummy candy, and refuses to eat half of what I put in front of her. She loves Pumpkin so much, and often tries to dress and decorate him. Being a mom to my special Gumball is a complete delight. She makes my heart grow bigger each day, just to contain some of the love that I have for her. She is so precious, unique, and wonderful.
I've recently been forced to think about why I write. At first, I wrote to share anecdotes about baby Gumball. Then, I needed to work out some issues. Writing helped me immensely. And now we've reached a point where I free-flow write about whatever topic piques my interest. I am considering the idea of focusing my writing, or finding a theme, but honestly, I'm not sure if I want to be that organized. Blogging is a funny thing, for me. I enjoy recording my thoughts and experiences, and I enjoy sharing them, with my phantom and possibly non-existent audience. I also find myself in a funny place with the public/private aspects of my blog. I link to my blog from my Instagram account. I link to my blog from my BabyCenter account. And no where else. Consequently, I think that more strangers than friends tend to read this. Maybe not. I really don't know who reads this. And anyone who knows me knows that I am pretty open with the private aspects of my life. I refuse to be ashamed or silenced in my own life. Anyhow, twice recently, I have had pangs of regret/confusion/dread/annoyance to find that someone I didn't want inside my head had been reading my blog. I've had to let go of those feelings, bc I have no control over who reads this, why they read it, and how they respond to my words.
I won't offer explanations, excuses, or defense for what I write. I don't need to. This is my blog, where I write for myself, and for the love of writing. I am honest, and I am not ashamed. I write about experiences that belong to me, and I try to entertain, titillate, and amuse anyone who takes a moment to read my musings. I even try to proofread.
Yeah. Apparently when I'm not bitching, I have nothing to say. Nothing interesting, anyhow.
So, let me catch y'all up. (Resounding silence.) Dude! I look at the page views. I know someone must be reading this, right? For the love of all things superficial, leave a comment, will you, please? Ok, thanks.
Tonight, I tried a Pilates class. My diet has gone into the toilet. Sort of. I've been a whole lot less concerned about staying under calories. Consequently, I've gained back 3 pounds. Bringing my total loss to 15lbs. Pretty good, but I still want to get back to losing weight. Honestly, I think it has to with the fact that no one is seeing me naked anymore. Mr. Bond was very good for my diet. Anyhow, Pilates. My "core" is trembling still. So freaking hard. I'm going to try to add a class to my weekly routine. Let's see how that goes. I can still be superfat, but with a core of steel. I'm ok with that. I may not be able to make it up the stairs tonight though, which is less cool.
Dating: man, dating is weird and sucky. I've been emailing with several people. Two of note: the most handsome and perfect man in the world, and another army guy. Mr. Perfect is young, built, charming, sweet, and loves kids. He was a nude model in college (for art classes) and is a successful artist. Swoon. He's perfect. Too perfect for me, I fear. Army guy is finishing out a career in the Special Forces. He is handsome, and stern, and we've been emailing since Mr. Bond checked out. His messages are thoughtful and caring, and he is very proper about not being suggestive with me, which I kind of appreciate. He claims to have feelings for me though, and I feel like anyone who claims to have feelings without first being together, is basing their feelings on their own assumptions, and their own hopeful projections. It makes me uncomfortable, but at the same time, it's sort of sweet.
Gumball: the kid is a ticket. She's inquisitive, sweet, hilarious, and so smart. She is taking a gymnastics class with one of her toddler buddies, and spends most of the class running away from me and ignoring what the teacher tries to get her to do. But she adores the trampoline, or the "run and jump" as we call it. She passionately loves all babies, and always asks me "why is that baby crying?" when she hears wailing. She is gentle and sweet with babies too, and only tries to pile several toys on top of them, in an offering of true love. She wolfs down boxes of seaweed, begs for gummy candy, and refuses to eat half of what I put in front of her. She loves Pumpkin so much, and often tries to dress and decorate him. Being a mom to my special Gumball is a complete delight. She makes my heart grow bigger each day, just to contain some of the love that I have for her. She is so precious, unique, and wonderful.
I've recently been forced to think about why I write. At first, I wrote to share anecdotes about baby Gumball. Then, I needed to work out some issues. Writing helped me immensely. And now we've reached a point where I free-flow write about whatever topic piques my interest. I am considering the idea of focusing my writing, or finding a theme, but honestly, I'm not sure if I want to be that organized. Blogging is a funny thing, for me. I enjoy recording my thoughts and experiences, and I enjoy sharing them, with my phantom and possibly non-existent audience. I also find myself in a funny place with the public/private aspects of my blog. I link to my blog from my Instagram account. I link to my blog from my BabyCenter account. And no where else. Consequently, I think that more strangers than friends tend to read this. Maybe not. I really don't know who reads this. And anyone who knows me knows that I am pretty open with the private aspects of my life. I refuse to be ashamed or silenced in my own life. Anyhow, twice recently, I have had pangs of regret/confusion/dread/annoyance to find that someone I didn't want inside my head had been reading my blog. I've had to let go of those feelings, bc I have no control over who reads this, why they read it, and how they respond to my words.
I won't offer explanations, excuses, or defense for what I write. I don't need to. This is my blog, where I write for myself, and for the love of writing. I am honest, and I am not ashamed. I write about experiences that belong to me, and I try to entertain, titillate, and amuse anyone who takes a moment to read my musings. I even try to proofread.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Blog
This woman writes the sort of blog I wish I could write.
http://youofallpeople.wordpress.com/
Her writing is tender, poignant, honest, beautiful, and, sometimes, hilarious. I don't know this stranger, but I adore her.
http://youofallpeople.wordpress.com/
Her writing is tender, poignant, honest, beautiful, and, sometimes, hilarious. I don't know this stranger, but I adore her.
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