I'm not writing this blog entry for sage advice from mothers who've "figured out what works." I don't believe you have and the presumption that you could help me pisses me off intensely.
The terrible two's have begun...
Jake and I spent an entire day fussing at each other. I got four hours of sleep (my fault, not his) and he's most likely going through a growth spurt (probably also my fault. If I didn't feed him, he wouldn't have to grow). We both started off pretty edgy, but after a THREE HOUR playgroup (way too long. Sometimes people don't get the hint. Go home. My child is half-asleep on me. Get OUT.) session, we were full-throttle GROUCHY.
What a day. I can't even go into all of it. The failed nap in which he hit me repeatedly and, yes, I spanked him. I know, I know, don't worry I feel the guilt, okay?? At any rate, he proved to me that this was ineffective by laughing in my face. The punishment that I decided for him in the end was this: go to your room. So tough, so effective. Ha! Of course he loved every minute of "go to your room." That just means, "Play cause Mama said to!" But whatever, it gave me a chance to breathe and calm down. Well, calm down-ish.
Finally, we both napped. But then dinner with friends turned into, "Mama gets no food because Jake wants to sit with her and will scream a lot if he doesn't get to." The bath turned into "I want to go potty, I want my diaper, I want Daddy." Bedtime became "No. Pooh sleep. Jake wake up."
And now we're at this. I'm almost positive he's wide awake, playing in his room, rather than sleeping. But once again, I have a chance to breathe. So I go with it.
Discipline. What?
(And of course as I write all of this, I look back and think, "Damn, he's cute when he does that." I think that's how they make it through these years...too cute to send them away...or out the window)
I'm having trouble starting this entry because I can't stop laughing. After re-reading my entry title, I keep imagining that someone's going to read this thinking I'm wondering why I can't do the latest Cosmo position to "make my man happy..."
It's a book review, y'all.
Tonight I finished reading Good In Bed, by Jennifer Weiner. And I just want to know, why the hell haven't I written a book??
Not that I think Weiner makes it look easy (well, this whole blog is just full of Beavis & Butthead humor, isn't it? I wrote weiner. Huh huh) to write a book. But reading this one, I thought, man, that could be MY story.
Of course, my storyline would be different. But her style. It's MINE. She's witty and poignant all at once. Don't I try so desperately to be the same way? Tonight at Waldenbooks, I saw two featured displays of books written by women, probably all around my age, who write the way I think. Consider these titles: Apocalipstick, Neurotica (both Sue Margolis), Shopaholic Ties the Knot (Sophie Kinsella), Gossip Hound (Wendy Holden), Diary of A Mad Mom-to-Be (Laura Wolf). I could list witty, fun, female-readers-come-hither titles all night long.
So where's my dedication and inspiration to actually sit down and get this writing done? Any suggestions?
Oh, and the review: What a perfect curl-up-in-bed-with-a-cup-of-tea-and-chocolate-while-your-husband-watches-another-war-movie-and-your-son-sleeps book. I laughed and cried (a little) and thought about getting up to pee, but couldn't until I finished the book. It's completely a chick book and it's not going to change your life.
But it's exactly the kind of book I'd like to write someday.
Tonight I went to dinner with two friends. This was a get-together we all needed. A chance to chat, reflect, and be totally honest with each other about our lives. A chance to dig a bit deeper than we might in casual conversation.
I have so much to say about tonight, but I cannot say it all at once. Let me start with one issue it brought up for me. Let me show you my mirrors...
I know I'm not the only one who does this, but I think I might be the Queen of Mirrors. I carry different mirrors with me all day long, pulling each one out to fit the company I keep at the time. (For anyone who might be slow on the uptake, the mirror idea is simply a metaphor. I do NOT have a purse full of literal mirrors.)
At home, I am most myself. This is a place where I allow myself to be me. Yes, I am Mommy and Wife, but I feel that I generally balance these things well, so that I remain Myself while I'm with Jake and Ike. At home I read what I want, write what I want, and watch what I want without concern of how these things might be perceived.
It's when I leave home that there's a problem. Here are the many mirrors I carry...
The MOMMY mirror. Even though I'm comfortable with my own parenting ability at home, I get uptight when I leave the house. In restaurants I worry: does that elderly woman think I'm too lenient? Am I being too harsh? With other moms I worry: am I doing it right? Do I look like a REAL mom? The MOMMY mirror generally reflects a woman who has the patience of Job, but the temperament of Medusa. Yes, MOMMY will put up with everything, but she will turn you to stone should you cross the line.
The WIFE mirror. I've found that it's extremely unpopular to like your husband. In the reflection of WIFE, you might find a bitter woman who gets no help around the house and no sleep because she works her tail off trying to keep things running smoothly, with no gratitude from her spouse at all of course. Sorry, Ike, for me to hold a good WIFE mirror (not to be confused with a GOOD WIFE mirror, which does not mesh with my FEMINIST mirror), we can't be friends. :wink
The CHRISTIAN mirror. Alright, this one is the largest case of "smoke and mirrors" in my life. I have several friends who assume (and some, I'm afraid, who've been misled to believe) that I share their faith. I don't know exactly how to combat this one. Honesty would be the best policy, of course, but...What a doozy. I am not a Christian, guys. At least not how you would define it. In fact, I might even consider the faith again...if I didn't have to deal with all the Christians.
The STUPID mirror. Hmm...I say the previous mirror is the largest, but perhaps this one is. From this mirror reflects a person who doesn't think past what's-for-dinner and what-who-said-to-whom-and-when. I think this mirror is the one that encompasses all of the above mirrors. The one that ignores my education and intelligence. The one that really allows me to be the person I'm expected to be. A stay at home mom with no issues and no side effects. Who expects this? Well, society of course. All those magazines with articles on how to make the perfect casserole in 5-minutes-or-less while redecorating the bathroom and keeping your husband happy in bed. All these people I know who assume that just because they have no higher aspirations in life, I don't either.
So. If I learned one thing tonight from these two brilliant women, it's this: I alone am responsible for these mirrors. My bag is only heavy with so many reflections because I've developed it to be so. What would happen if I were brave enough to only be ME? If I only reflected MYSELF out of every mirror I passed...?
Mirror, mirror, on the wall...Who's the most neurotic of all?
My superhereo power is the ability to spell. It's not much, but I'm a good speller.
Ike is not the best speller. Not the worst, but...ahem...he's certainly not a
Superhero Speller.
What does it mean that he has beaten me two nights in a row in a word game??
...must find new power...
(Perhaps I could be a superhero SLEEPER!!)
Ahh...where is Ice-T
when you need him?
This entry has nothing to do with Ice-T, but rather with my humble opinion (relatives need read no further) that sex makes the world go 'round.
Of course there's the whole reproduction thing. Yes, that certainly increases our population. But that's not what I mean.
Someday soon I'm going back to school. I'm going back to get a master's degree so I can point out (officially) what I already know (instinctively): sex is what we all need.
For men, it's fairly simple: sex is natural, sex is fun, etc. For women, there's a whole socialization behind sexuality. Slut/Whore/Goddess/Saint/Virgin/Bitch. Which one shall I be today?
A person's sexual nature defines who they are in many ways. Sex (your definition of this term may vary by your politcal persuasion) wakes a person up. Whether alone or with other(s), sex takes you beyond the daily wear and tear of life. It makes you stop for a while (anywhere from 15 seconds to Sting's 5+ hours) and concentrate on this body you carry around with you all day. It's a form of meditation (or medication) in which you can let go and just be IN THE MOMENT.
Consensual sex is good for your self-esteem. Sex, it does a body good (pass it on).
I hear that many relationships end because of financial problems. I'm wondering if perhaps those financially strapped relationships would have lasted a little longer had they been strong sexually.
I feel like I'm rambling a bit here and not doing justice to my beliefs about the importance of a sex life (again, this doesn't have to involve others, but it helps I suppose), so I'll stop. But trust me, when I get that degree, I'll be able to prove it: sex is better than prozac.
Give it a try. Tell me if I'm right. :wink
His official birthday isn't until tomorrow, but after the party he had today, I think it's safe to start calling Jake a two-year-old!
What a perfect day...we couldn't have asked for anything better. The weather cooperated--didn't rain til after the last guests left tonight. Jake timed his nap perfectly, so that he was wide awake and happy for the party (always a worry with toddlers). He had two great friends and his five-year-old uncle to play with in the backyard, and we were surrounded by family. (Which, in this case, was a good thing.) Ike made great food, Jake loved his presents and the cake was excellent.
This isn't a thought-provoking entry by any means, but it's my little thanks to the spirits that be (not that I expect them to be reading a blog entry on a Saturday night) for a perfect day...
Hmm...Ike and I just watched "Reign of Fire," a movie based in post-apocalyptic England--an apocalypse brought about by dragons. Okay, not my kind of movie, but oddly riveting (and not just because of Matthew McConaughey. Although he didn't HURT the movie, either.). So I stayed up for it, and it's led me to my most recent revelation for a blog entry.
And speaking of revelations, that's what I'm talking about. Living in a small town that's mostly comprised of Conservative Christians, it seems that I am always surrounded by people who believe the end of the world is imminent. And that this end is coming because the Son of God is returning (apparently to Asheboro first, actually, so I'll be sure to post when I meet him) and his people will go with him while everyone else fights it out in the streets with tattoos on their foreheads...blah, blah, blah.
It's starting to really get to me. This week alone: Ike's client who has calculated the end as coming next year stopped by (incidentally, his math is all wrong); a friend I met for coffee mentioned (when I made fun of aforementioned client) that, "well, you know it IS coming soon..."; and...a woman who works with me in the YMCA nursery told me that she doesn't think we should save the rainforests or be kind to animals because (and I swear to you I'm quoting verbatim when I write this) "the Lord is coming back soon anyway and we won't have to worry about it."
And it's always in these casual conversations I hear. Right after the Sept. 11th attacks, I overheard, "Well, there are signs everywhere, aren't there?" I read about it on church signs. (If you've never been to Asheboro, I should tell you that there's a church on every street corner. First Prebyterian here lost members back in the Spring when a tornado hit town. It only destroyed parts of the mall and the STEEPLE of First Pres toppled. That, of course, was a SIGN of the END. First Baptist had a sudden rise in membership.) It's everywhere.
Okay. Okay, am I alone in thinking that these people are wacko? Is it because I haven't read that damn Left Behind series? Maybe I just don't get it.
I certainly don't want to insult someone's faith, but as this is MY blog, I'll say what I think. I think this need to believe the end is nigh comes from a lack of lust for life. I think it comes from a need to believe that while your life might be terrible, you don't need to fix it because Jesus will. I think it comes from a place of fear. I also think it comes from laziness: like my co-worker pointed out, if the world is ending anyway, we can do whatever the hell we want to the environment--it won't matter. Hmm, someone should point that out to the President, since he has such moral issues over drilling in wilderness reserves...('at's a joke, there)
Why be afraid of living a full life? Why be afraid that you might be wrong? (As may I, of course, in which case the sooner the end comes, the sooner we can stop paying off credit card debt. Hey...I have this friend named Tyler who thinks that we could level the playing field of life if we got rid of credit card companies and blew up...oh, that's a different post.
At any rate, I can't quite articulate it, but I am troubled by this insistence that the end is coming. This obsession with when, where, why and how.
The Left Behind series currently has 11 novels. There's a movie and a children's series. When I look up "Left Behind" on Yahoo!, I find tons and tons of end-of-times web sites.
But I take heart. When all those crazy people leave with their "rapture," the rest of us can finally stop hearing about it.
As one more way of celebrating Jake's birthday this week, Ike and I were helping him learn his age tonight. We'd ask "How old are you?" and he'd answer "Jake." (Well, he's got "What's your name?" down pat!) Ike, in an attempt to give him an example of how this age thing works, asked, "Jake, how old do you think Mama is?"
Jake looked me up and down and responded without hesitation, "TOO OLD."
OUCH.
Ike and I are spending this week preparing ourselves for Jake's upcoming birthday. Yep, our son who was just born last week (Right?? How could it be so long ago??) is turning two on Sunday. TWO.
You know what TWO means? Well, it means a lot of things, of course, but tonight I'm thinking of this: it means that we can stop counting months. FINALLY. I can see the need to count months (he's 4 months old, he's 9 months old, he's 13 months old, he's 19 months old, etc.) for these first two years, of course. I mean, any parent (or person who has ever been around children) can tell you there's very little similarity between a 13 month old and a 23 month old, even though they're both "one." Each month brings new development, new skills, new fun...
But somehow, although I'm sure a 25 month old is very different from a 35 month old, you get to stop counting at two. So now he'll be two, then two-and-a-half (sometime around Christmas I guess I can start that), and then straight on to three. I know of one mother who still hangs on to those months (her son is 29 and a hlaf months, I believe), but I for one am ready: come Sunday, Jake is TWO YEARS.
But wait. Now that I write it, maybe that's not as wonderful a feeling as I've thought. My son is graduating from months. He's moving into years...
It's a little less intimate, don't you think? A little more distant, maybe. Why bother remembering the months now, your kid's a toddler. Terrible two's maybe, but never terrible 24-months.
It's similar to the way I've distanced myself from other little things about the babyness of Jake. I no longer rush into his room every night just to make sure he's still breathing...we stopped that over a year ago. He eats big people food (meaning goldfish crackers and cheetoes and nothing else) now, so I don't have to remember which breast he nursed on last...we stopped that about a year ago too. I've been washing his clothes with Tide instead of baby detergent for at least 9 months. He eats popcorn and grapes whole.
What's going on? Am I losing my baby?? He's growing up and ever so slowly he's growing away...
Somewhere along the way I read a quote that said parents are the only people who work their way out of a job (it sounded much better than that originally, but I can't find the quote). Huh.
So. On Sunday, Jake will be 24 months old. That is, his exact birthday will be at 7:58 p.m. on Sunday, July 13th. And perhaps as he gets older, I'll occasionally stop to make sure I know his age...in months.
(Note to Mom: I am 340 months + 2 days old.)
Thanks to Chip (and a lot of help from Ike), I have a blog of my own! Ahh...it feels good. For some time I struggled with this notion of BLOG. Why, after all, would anyone want to read my random thoughts? Why not be satisfied with my homegrown and failproof spiral-bound journal? Why put pressure on myself to update, stylize, love this BLOG? Would this not be jumping on yet another bandwagon, similar to the Harry Potter mania that I have so lately joined?
And really again, I had to ask, WHY would anyone want to read what I might write? Ah, I think that I am clever, witty, intelligent...but do I have anything important to say? Is what I might write worthy of the space it will inevitably take up on this World Wide Web? Will I be ridiculed, with friends laughing behind my back at my idiocy? Or even worse...will no one read the posts I pour my heart and soul into?
I pondered these things. And I decided this: I want a blog. And I don't care what you think. (Please love me and my blog.)