Dearest Dante and Scarlett,
First and foremost, Happy birthday, Dante! A whopping four years old! It's crazy to me how fast time flies. I guess it's true that kids are time machines. Days drag on forever, but years fly by. You have become an amazing reader, and a mini mathematician. Your way with words and numbers astounds me. I do wish you'd outgrow temper tantrums, but I really can't judge since I haven't...
Scarlett! Twenty months old and you can almost sing the alphabet!! You really love your tutus and your sparkly things! You carry your blanket around like the princess version of Linus from Peanuts, but it's cute. I'm really waiting for you to use it like a parachute...
And the both of you with this Mickey Mouse Clubhouse has GOT TO STOP. I hear those songs in my sleep. It's not fair, seriously. I was never really into Disney, and now I know why. Please cut it out.
I really don't have much to say other than I'm tired and I love you....
So, I'm tired, and I love you.
~mama
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Friday, March 29, 2013
An Excuse to Utilize My Vocabulary Skills
Well, it's been a minute, hasn't it? I'd like to say I've been busy finding a cure for Parkinson's or Alzheimer's, but, in reality, I've been dodging boogers, succumbing to the whims of my children (DAMN YOU, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse!), and shuttling myself to and from assorted doctors appointments. I've been cleaning up messes, singing cheesy songs, and wallowing in the depths of my head, wondering when the neural pathways will finally make sense. (Luckily, there are drugs for that!) I've been cooking, and kissing boo boos, and scrubbing walls and children both covered in paint and markers.
I'd love to say that I've done something for myself, like gotten a haircut, or a mani-pedi, or even a facial mask I made myself from a recipe on Pintrest, but, alas, I have not. I'd love to spend time on myself, but that's not in my foreseeable future. Time, like money, tends to disappear before I can say "Wow!" Imagine if there was enough time in the day, or cash in all our accounts? What would we dream about? What would happen? I'm sure I'd find something to blather on and on about ('tis my nature), but it feels like I will never get there.
I did finally get my fat ass enrolled at the Community College of Denver, but I have yet to get to orientation (so that I can enroll in classes) because they are only held at times my husband is at work. Same goes for the testing portion of enrollment. I realize that they are weeding people out, but unless they can either pony up daycare or be open and willing when I can go...what am I to do?
Oh, well. Like all of my dreams other than motherhood, it's on the back burner. I knew going in that some things would have to be put aside, I just had no idea to this extent. I feel isolated. I feel like my days are spent translating thoughts into simple sentences for the knee-high set, and when I do get to talk to other adults, kids come out of the woodwork so that conversing is moot. I don't get to hang out with the ladies, because events have a tendency to be scheduled on odd nights or when family stuff is planned, or they are too expensive, and spending money is the opposite of what I am trying to do. I'm trying to get all our ducks in a row so we can get the hell out of this horrible, tiny apartment. I know a house won't solve all of my problems (add to them, in fact), but it'd be nice to have a window that doesn't face a wall. I'd like to build stuff in a garage, like storage things, or a classic car for Dante to drive when he's of age. I'd like to have a space where I can sew and not wake people up, or do a workout dvd without tripping over a kid.
It'd be easy to say I'm miserable, but I'm not. Confused, maybe, but not miserable. I'm hard at work in the confines of this skull, trying to hammer what needs to be hammered, and sanding so that I may polish. I'm a work in progress, sure, but when do I know when I'm done?
I'd love to say that I've done something for myself, like gotten a haircut, or a mani-pedi, or even a facial mask I made myself from a recipe on Pintrest, but, alas, I have not. I'd love to spend time on myself, but that's not in my foreseeable future. Time, like money, tends to disappear before I can say "Wow!" Imagine if there was enough time in the day, or cash in all our accounts? What would we dream about? What would happen? I'm sure I'd find something to blather on and on about ('tis my nature), but it feels like I will never get there.
I did finally get my fat ass enrolled at the Community College of Denver, but I have yet to get to orientation (so that I can enroll in classes) because they are only held at times my husband is at work. Same goes for the testing portion of enrollment. I realize that they are weeding people out, but unless they can either pony up daycare or be open and willing when I can go...what am I to do?
Oh, well. Like all of my dreams other than motherhood, it's on the back burner. I knew going in that some things would have to be put aside, I just had no idea to this extent. I feel isolated. I feel like my days are spent translating thoughts into simple sentences for the knee-high set, and when I do get to talk to other adults, kids come out of the woodwork so that conversing is moot. I don't get to hang out with the ladies, because events have a tendency to be scheduled on odd nights or when family stuff is planned, or they are too expensive, and spending money is the opposite of what I am trying to do. I'm trying to get all our ducks in a row so we can get the hell out of this horrible, tiny apartment. I know a house won't solve all of my problems (add to them, in fact), but it'd be nice to have a window that doesn't face a wall. I'd like to build stuff in a garage, like storage things, or a classic car for Dante to drive when he's of age. I'd like to have a space where I can sew and not wake people up, or do a workout dvd without tripping over a kid.
It'd be easy to say I'm miserable, but I'm not. Confused, maybe, but not miserable. I'm hard at work in the confines of this skull, trying to hammer what needs to be hammered, and sanding so that I may polish. I'm a work in progress, sure, but when do I know when I'm done?
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
My Brain Hurts. Not Anything NEW, per se...
So, I don't understand people. I don't think I ever will. When people are nice to me, it makes me cry. I guess I am so used to getting shat upon, it's mind-blowing when people are nice because they are nice....
Case in point: Today, I had a wild hair up me bum, and I decided to call Dante's classmate's mom and ask her what she was doing before we got the kids from school. We met for coffee, and the fact she showed up made me cry. Sad, isn't it? We had a normal conversation, and we cooed at each others' wee ones, and then we took all of them to a park after school. Would this make you burst into tears? It did it for me. I've gotten to a point in my life where people following through and being decent turns me into a puddle of goo. Then, to top it off, the super awesome lady that teaches my Zumba class that I love is letting me hit up her class a couple more times this year even though my punch card was in a wallet that got lost and possibly stolen. I nearly passed out.
More and more, it feels like the nicer and more honest I am, the more I become the gum on the bottom of The Universe's shoe. I know I have a tendency to over-share (thanks, Mom, for pointing that out!), but I can't help it. I don't get to talk to adults much anymore, so when I get the opportunity, I run my mouth out of sheer, unadulterated joy that I get to use vocabulary words from middle school with someone who has a 90% chance of knowing what that means. I have to reign myself in, and it's hard. I hate making new friends, but the ones I thought I had have evaporated. I know life happens, but I'm left in the dust, missing what I didn't really have in the first place. I'm in a weird headspace, where I still feel young, but I am not. I still feel like a cool Mama Bat, training the baby bats in the way of the night, but I'm now a booger catcher. The only reason I've worn velvet this year is because I was Morticia (and a crappy one at that) for Hallowe'en. A corset? It's been years. As in, Dante was a pipe dream the last time boning graced my plump midsection. My wardrobe has been reduced to yoga pants, over sized t-shirts, and unruly hair. I nearly forgot how to put on my makeup. But at the same time, do I care? Most of the people in that scene snub blood sausages like me. Yes, I still listen to a lot of the music, but so what? I also still love my mariachi music, and I can sing Twinkle Twinkle with the best of them. Now I know who all the Wiggles are, and I use Elmo as a teaching tool. What happened to using Rozz Williams as a teaching tool? Showing a cute little baby bat how to properly create a shadow effect and smokey eye?
I feel weird. Very weird. I'm getting to be cynical, and that hurts. But it's hard not to when people find ways to mock and exclude me while pretending to at least give a shit about what I have to say. I'm tired of being judged because I'm not married to a cash cow, like a doctor or lawyer, or because I'm not Organic enough, or whatever. It's sick and twisted. Maybe I should just come to terms with the fact that I made the odd call of marrying for love, not money, and I'm loud, and awkward, and goofy, and fiercely loyal and kind and honest to a fault... Don't like it? Then why the hell are you reading this?
Case in point: Today, I had a wild hair up me bum, and I decided to call Dante's classmate's mom and ask her what she was doing before we got the kids from school. We met for coffee, and the fact she showed up made me cry. Sad, isn't it? We had a normal conversation, and we cooed at each others' wee ones, and then we took all of them to a park after school. Would this make you burst into tears? It did it for me. I've gotten to a point in my life where people following through and being decent turns me into a puddle of goo. Then, to top it off, the super awesome lady that teaches my Zumba class that I love is letting me hit up her class a couple more times this year even though my punch card was in a wallet that got lost and possibly stolen. I nearly passed out.
More and more, it feels like the nicer and more honest I am, the more I become the gum on the bottom of The Universe's shoe. I know I have a tendency to over-share (thanks, Mom, for pointing that out!), but I can't help it. I don't get to talk to adults much anymore, so when I get the opportunity, I run my mouth out of sheer, unadulterated joy that I get to use vocabulary words from middle school with someone who has a 90% chance of knowing what that means. I have to reign myself in, and it's hard. I hate making new friends, but the ones I thought I had have evaporated. I know life happens, but I'm left in the dust, missing what I didn't really have in the first place. I'm in a weird headspace, where I still feel young, but I am not. I still feel like a cool Mama Bat, training the baby bats in the way of the night, but I'm now a booger catcher. The only reason I've worn velvet this year is because I was Morticia (and a crappy one at that) for Hallowe'en. A corset? It's been years. As in, Dante was a pipe dream the last time boning graced my plump midsection. My wardrobe has been reduced to yoga pants, over sized t-shirts, and unruly hair. I nearly forgot how to put on my makeup. But at the same time, do I care? Most of the people in that scene snub blood sausages like me. Yes, I still listen to a lot of the music, but so what? I also still love my mariachi music, and I can sing Twinkle Twinkle with the best of them. Now I know who all the Wiggles are, and I use Elmo as a teaching tool. What happened to using Rozz Williams as a teaching tool? Showing a cute little baby bat how to properly create a shadow effect and smokey eye?
I feel weird. Very weird. I'm getting to be cynical, and that hurts. But it's hard not to when people find ways to mock and exclude me while pretending to at least give a shit about what I have to say. I'm tired of being judged because I'm not married to a cash cow, like a doctor or lawyer, or because I'm not Organic enough, or whatever. It's sick and twisted. Maybe I should just come to terms with the fact that I made the odd call of marrying for love, not money, and I'm loud, and awkward, and goofy, and fiercely loyal and kind and honest to a fault... Don't like it? Then why the hell are you reading this?
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
The Masochism Cha-Cha...
A friend posted this cool website on Facebook that lets you look p your personality traits based on your birthday. You even get to plug in a few birthdays and see if you are astrologically compatible with someone. And I am a f-ing MASOCHIST.
Case in point: I checked me and my best friend, who died almost two years ago:
(I'm Week of the Child, Chris was Week of Society)
I'm beside myself with grief. I had to go to the bathroom to cry so my kids didn't wake up thinking a dying seal landed in our living room. I still feel like I'm missing a piece of my soul. It sucks, but it's true. And reading stuff like that doesn't help me. It makes me think I need a "vacation" in a pretty jacket with buckles and a padded room. I feel useless and terrible, and my heart is aching like it just broke all over again.
The pain and overwhelming sorrow are becoming a daily occurrence. Every day, there's a song, or a car, or Scarlett makes a face, and there's a shattering in my chest that won't quit. Every day, I am broken and miserable. I deserve a gorram Oscar for my happy persona performances. I can make Doris Day look like the miserable sack I am on the inside. I keep reminding myself that I need to fake it until it's true, but I'm starting not to care...
Case in point: I checked me and my best friend, who died almost two years ago:
Title: Empathic Comrades
This combination offers a good example of how a relationship can create synergies. When faced with problems or challenges, for example, those born during the Week of the Child will act more from instinct, while more mental Week of Society persons will hang back a bit; yet this combination’s greatest strengths are neither instinct nor thought but emotion, feeling and empathy. In the long run, the relationship will give each partner the sensitivity to know and understand the other’s feelings. Week of the Child people’s outspokenness and Week of Society individuals’ reflectiveness may occasionally conflict, yet each has much to learn from the other. Often procrastinators,those born during the Week of Society may admire the ability of Week of the Child people to make up their mind and act without endless rumination; headstrong Week of the Child folks, for their part, may learn from Week of Society individuals how to be less rash and to use their common sense. Given the differences in each party’s orientation, this combination would not traditionally be recommended for love affairs, but actually things can work out. The crucial factor will be how strong physical attraction is; that both parties to the relationship enjoy having fun is a big plus. Marriages, on the other hand, may work out very nicely even if sexual or sensuous considerations are downplayed. Comradeship, affection, acceptance—all of these grow stronger in Week of the Child–Week of Society marriages as the years go by. A truly unselfish love is possible between these two, assuming that the Week of the Child person is not overly egotistical and does not ignore Week of Society needs. Week of Society people, meanwhile, must respect the Week of the Child person’s need for independence, yet without being masochistic and losing self-respect. As family members, Week of the Child individuals can help protect Week of Society relatives from being at the mercy of their dark side. Week of the Child people bring not only fun-loving qualities to the sibling or parent-child relationship but also understanding; they know what it is to be beset by moodiness themselves and can usually handle it better in others than deal with their own demons.
(I'm Week of the Child, Chris was Week of Society)
I'm beside myself with grief. I had to go to the bathroom to cry so my kids didn't wake up thinking a dying seal landed in our living room. I still feel like I'm missing a piece of my soul. It sucks, but it's true. And reading stuff like that doesn't help me. It makes me think I need a "vacation" in a pretty jacket with buckles and a padded room. I feel useless and terrible, and my heart is aching like it just broke all over again.
The pain and overwhelming sorrow are becoming a daily occurrence. Every day, there's a song, or a car, or Scarlett makes a face, and there's a shattering in my chest that won't quit. Every day, I am broken and miserable. I deserve a gorram Oscar for my happy persona performances. I can make Doris Day look like the miserable sack I am on the inside. I keep reminding myself that I need to fake it until it's true, but I'm starting not to care...
Saturday, July 7, 2012
I had a choice.
Make fudge and slowly nom on it all night, or go buy a pack of smokes. So my face is covered in chocolate. Mmmm, nothing like a fat girl with a fudge mustache. Meh. I'd rather be fat than see Dante pretend to smoke again.
My head hurts. Like, OH MY GODS! WHO IS SQUEEZING MY AMYGDALA? kind of pain. It's crazy. I also have little trolls tap dancing on my temples, but they make me laugh, so screw it.
Ever have one of those cabin fever days where it feels like crushing your face with a cast iron skillet would be more fun that what you're doing? That's how today was. I am so incredibly dumb: I decided, on day 2 of Not Smoking, that I was going to make drums with Dante out of baby cheesy poof containers and an old formula can. People with OCD shouldn't do arts and crafts at home with their kids. I thought my head was going to explode. And then Scarlett stuck her feet in glue. And Dante cut a hole in his new boxer briefs with his blunt scissors. And colored all over himself with marker. Oi.
The kids and I got into a splash fight in the tub earlier, which made my heart flutter. It was a blast! Scarlett "kicks" by holding on to the bath seat and lifting her butt and legs and splashing them down as hard as she can. It's hilarious! Dante just kicks and kicks until I am wiping bathwater off my face.
But Day 2 is almost over. I am kinda twitchy. Maybe it's because I haven't had enough coffee. I think only two huge cups is some kind of record low. =(
But now I have to have decaf, since it's bedtime.
My head hurts. Like, OH MY GODS! WHO IS SQUEEZING MY AMYGDALA? kind of pain. It's crazy. I also have little trolls tap dancing on my temples, but they make me laugh, so screw it.
Ever have one of those cabin fever days where it feels like crushing your face with a cast iron skillet would be more fun that what you're doing? That's how today was. I am so incredibly dumb: I decided, on day 2 of Not Smoking, that I was going to make drums with Dante out of baby cheesy poof containers and an old formula can. People with OCD shouldn't do arts and crafts at home with their kids. I thought my head was going to explode. And then Scarlett stuck her feet in glue. And Dante cut a hole in his new boxer briefs with his blunt scissors. And colored all over himself with marker. Oi.
The kids and I got into a splash fight in the tub earlier, which made my heart flutter. It was a blast! Scarlett "kicks" by holding on to the bath seat and lifting her butt and legs and splashing them down as hard as she can. It's hilarious! Dante just kicks and kicks until I am wiping bathwater off my face.
But Day 2 is almost over. I am kinda twitchy. Maybe it's because I haven't had enough coffee. I think only two huge cups is some kind of record low. =(
But now I have to have decaf, since it's bedtime.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Well, I'l be!
Today was Day One of No Smoking. And both kids are still alive and well! Hell, my head doesn't even hurt that bad! I'm hoping it stays this easy! I'm incredibly proud of myself!
While I'm here, I have to write (for posterity's sake) what's been going on with Dante at night. He's taken to telling me before his lullabies that he Has to Talk to Me. Usually, it's about Spongebob, or Sesame Street, or Bob the Builder. Tonight, it was Super Why, and he gave me an elaborate story about how he and the characters went into a book and saved someone with the power of reading! I nearly choked, trying to keep the laughter on the inside! Then he told me that he and Bob the Builder were going to build him a teeny tiny house. I asked him "Will Scarlett live with you?" and he said "Yes, and Tita [abuelita, spanish for grandmother] and Santiago [his cousin], too!" So I asked, "Where will Mama and Daddy and Tia Paloma and Tio Steven [my in-laws, Santiago's parents] live?"
"Oh, the teeny tiny house is inside the big big house. Don't worry, Mama. I love you."
Seriously. That child is sheer, unadulterated magic. I love these kids. Freakin' amazing...
So I am going to play my games as quickly as I can so I can hop in the shower and then melt into bed. I'm fairly happy, but I may have to have more coffee to compensate for the lack of nicotine...
While I'm here, I have to write (for posterity's sake) what's been going on with Dante at night. He's taken to telling me before his lullabies that he Has to Talk to Me. Usually, it's about Spongebob, or Sesame Street, or Bob the Builder. Tonight, it was Super Why, and he gave me an elaborate story about how he and the characters went into a book and saved someone with the power of reading! I nearly choked, trying to keep the laughter on the inside! Then he told me that he and Bob the Builder were going to build him a teeny tiny house. I asked him "Will Scarlett live with you?" and he said "Yes, and Tita [abuelita, spanish for grandmother] and Santiago [his cousin], too!" So I asked, "Where will Mama and Daddy and Tia Paloma and Tio Steven [my in-laws, Santiago's parents] live?"
"Oh, the teeny tiny house is inside the big big house. Don't worry, Mama. I love you."
Seriously. That child is sheer, unadulterated magic. I love these kids. Freakin' amazing...
So I am going to play my games as quickly as I can so I can hop in the shower and then melt into bed. I'm fairly happy, but I may have to have more coffee to compensate for the lack of nicotine...
Thursday, July 5, 2012
I hope...
I sincerely hope this is my last cigarette. I really am. Almost two months of Chantix, a whole lot of pep talk, and sheer fucking will oughtta do it. I'm not quitting for my health as much as I'm quitting for Dante, who has decided to start pretending to smoke. I hate it. I hate that he knows what a "smoke break" is. I'm also quitting because of the firmly held belief that if my bestest friend in the whole wide world had quit when he was my age, he could still fucking be here. (Please pardon all the French; I can't quite help it today...)
And in other news, since I have been meaning to post for a few months now, Scarlett wears a prosthetic helmet. Her flat head was beginning to become an issue, not just on the squishiness of her face, but her doc and her physical therapist were afraid her optic nerve would get pinched, along with a host of other problems. So, now she has a helmet with hearts all over it.
Oi. For those that weren't paying attention, I got a new van for my birthday after my Subaru (bless her tired soul) gave me the finger in a way even I found obscene. So now I have a minivan. (Sigh.) Said minivan decided on Sunday that she was going to pout and not start when I was trying to go get breakfast burritos for us. Well, that didn't work, and I was stuck at 7-11 with me and Dante until Hubby came and rescued him while I waited for a tow. Yeah. So now I am waiting for the mobile mechanic to get his bum this way in traditional Denver rush hour traffic so I can get my car out of one of the dentist's parking spots.
Not too much is going on. Next week, I get to go to a dear friend's wedding, and I'm taking Scarlett for her 1 year pictures and getting Dante some school clothes at JCPenney. Not so much because I love what they have; I just really love how they keep featuring gay couples in their advertising. Gotta support what you believe in! (One of my soapboxes!)
I am REALLY looking forward to Dante going to school. I think we are both getting tired of each other. But that's another post, for another day. If I can remember I have this thing. =P
(Oh, and whomever said that it gets easier to function after a friends death with time can go fuck themselves. I miss him more and more every day, and there aren't enough pills on the face of the earth that can help. Just sayin'.)
~b
And in other news, since I have been meaning to post for a few months now, Scarlett wears a prosthetic helmet. Her flat head was beginning to become an issue, not just on the squishiness of her face, but her doc and her physical therapist were afraid her optic nerve would get pinched, along with a host of other problems. So, now she has a helmet with hearts all over it.
Oi. For those that weren't paying attention, I got a new van for my birthday after my Subaru (bless her tired soul) gave me the finger in a way even I found obscene. So now I have a minivan. (Sigh.) Said minivan decided on Sunday that she was going to pout and not start when I was trying to go get breakfast burritos for us. Well, that didn't work, and I was stuck at 7-11 with me and Dante until Hubby came and rescued him while I waited for a tow. Yeah. So now I am waiting for the mobile mechanic to get his bum this way in traditional Denver rush hour traffic so I can get my car out of one of the dentist's parking spots.
Not too much is going on. Next week, I get to go to a dear friend's wedding, and I'm taking Scarlett for her 1 year pictures and getting Dante some school clothes at JCPenney. Not so much because I love what they have; I just really love how they keep featuring gay couples in their advertising. Gotta support what you believe in! (One of my soapboxes!)
I am REALLY looking forward to Dante going to school. I think we are both getting tired of each other. But that's another post, for another day. If I can remember I have this thing. =P
(Oh, and whomever said that it gets easier to function after a friends death with time can go fuck themselves. I miss him more and more every day, and there aren't enough pills on the face of the earth that can help. Just sayin'.)
~b
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