clickmom

zoo

I accompanied Josh's class on a class trip today. We went to the zoo. Josh was paired off with is best friend, which under normal circumstances would have been heavenly. I love this kid. But the friend was not at all into the zoo. He knew the hokey train ride was hokey and he pretty much didn't want to see anything that couldn't eat a person, so he wasn't impressed with vultures, elk, or monkeys, or even the two bald eagles. He wanted big ticket animals, like lions, the kind that were not to be found at this small scale zoo.

Also, another mother asked me if our two groups could wander the zoo together. This was in her best interest, since her son is most likely ADHD (she knows it too) and the other kid is just kind of constantly naughty. I had already said YES to the other mother when Josh's teacher approached me to ask if I could take the other mom's group in with mine, so I really had no choice at all. While I am flattered that I am recognized for my superior kid wrangling skills, instead of the relaxing zoo wandering trip I had planned for the day, I had to switch into teacher mode, and then there was little relaxing and much cajoling of the unenthusiastic, much reigning in of the wandering and there was also a constant like hawk like vigil over the child prone to mischief. By the end of the trip Josh (I am assuming) was feeling completely ignored, so he became hyper focused on the mostly healed scabby scrape on his knee insisting that the already healed scrape was somehow going to get his shorts bloody. I found the nurse and had her bandage the hard dry scab. It was the least I could do. I considered taking Josh home in my car with me, but decided I would send him off on the bus with the rest of his class and enjoy the 15 childless minutes alone with the other mother, who I imagine went home and broke open a case of beer or maybe even something with an even higher alcohol content after being held captive in my vehicle and having to listen to all my troubles. I figure it was a fair exchange.

I'm passing on a babes luncheon tomorrow in order to have some free time with Matt who will be home from school since he is not one of the band/chorus participants going on a class trip. (And how a school can plan a trip to an amusement park and not take the whole grade is beyond me.) I am really looking forward to just being alone with him. Now I have to try to convince him that he wants to hang out with me and not be on the computer trying to sneak a look at some porn the whole afternoon. Welcome to the teenage years.

reeding iz fuhndemantil

Josh: What begins with a G and ends with an A?

gaga?
grappa?
gondola?
Ghandi? (That was Evan's)

Josh: No! It's GAY!!

empty

I never slowed down much when I was pregnant with Matt. As a matter of fact, when I was 9 months pregnant with him we moved from Manhattan to Brooklyn, and having that 9 month pregnant inability to get a good night's sleep, I spent the early morning hours of my final month of pregnancy in Prospect Park tossing dog balls and chatting with the people who were there at the crack of dawn because they, for the most part, had to then abandon their dogs for the day and go off and spend a long hard day at work somewhere. When I bumped into a couple of my new dog owning friends a month or so after Matt was born, when I no longer prowled the park in the wee hours of the morning, they were shocked to see a baby on my chest. They had no idea that the new dog loving person in the park had been 9 months pregnant.

Then Matt was born and while he was an extremely happy baby, it was totally on his terms, and his terms were that I (and only I would do) held him 24/7. So, I had a very happy baby who was always in my arms. If you think I am kidding, I will tell you about the time I sat on the toilet debating with myself until I had to make the conscious decision that it was going to be all right to put him down while I wiped after bowel movements. Eventually (which seemed like forever back then, but a mere wink in time now) Matt learned how to crawl, and crawled away from me, looking over his shoulder, and became a very independent toddler. Then there were miscarriages, pregnancy with Evan, more "attachment parenting" a move to the burbs, followed by years of culture shock, a huge house renovation and another pregnancy for my Josh, "attachment parenting" for three now, and that kind of brings us to today.

I sure am tired.

I've never regretted the way I parent my kids. I did it the way I felt right doing it before I even knew it had a label. I breast fed, baby wore, co-slept, and the whole deal. I did it this way before I ever even heard of Dr. Sears or Mothering magazine. But you know, once I found them I was validated, so I just kept on doing what I had been doing all along. I have more patience, or used to have more patience, than one person has a right to, and it shows (or used to before all that patience was worn thin) It wasn't "easier" on me that way, I had no free time, and even things like getting my bi-annual haircut required ridiculous amount of planning. But the kids sure were happier with that arrangement, and I always say a happy kid means a happy mother. And my kids were very very happy. So, I was happy, but tired. I mothered that way because that is what came naturally to me. Today, 14 years after all of this began, I honestly like my kids. I have good salt of the earth, wouldn't hurt a fly morally sound kids. They make me proud, and any little complaints I might register about them I can always attribute to a genetic flaw from their father's side, so all in all, I wouldn't go back and do it any other way. That being said, I am feeling somewhat empty lately. I think I might have given all I have to give.

I'm not sure how to say what I am feeling these days, but I can sum it up with a story that Kitten shared with me. Kitten has a friend, who had an amazing mother. The amazing mother sewed all of her kids clothes, made home cooked meals, only gave at home parties, and always had a craft project planned for a rainy day. One day this perfect mother announced to her kids that she was done, and she just kind of stopped. The kids had to buy their clothes, and halloween costumes, they started eating out and ordering in a lot and the mom, while still around to advise and love and care about her kids, she was still a good mom, but she no longer did any of the above and beyond stuff that she had done for so many years. I think I might be there, at that point where I've given all I have to give.

snaggle tooth

Before I had kids I could never have imagined how just seeing their faces could take my breath away. I never could have imagined how I would spend hours just gazing at their soft perfect skin, counting freckles, memorizing every curve of an ear, every fuzzy lip hair, the very exquisite way their nose evolves into a cheek and a chin becomes a lip. I never knew I could boldly pick a crusty nose clean, treasure a little tiny tooth, or die a little inside just from seeing a tear stained cheek.

That being said, if he doesn't wiggle that damned disgusting dangling tooth (which makes me totally want to puke every time he smiles) out of his mouth in the next 24 hours then I am going to sneak up on him in the middle of the night with some pliers and finish the job myself.

dork

I burst into tears/cried like a baby when Jordin won.

dancing yeah

Walking around in this emotional void (necessary to prevent sudden crying outbursts) has made me hyper-aware of any non-foggy completely numb feeling I might experience in my day to day activities.

Sometimes during the day I park my truck only slightly in my driveway (as opposed to all the way around the back of the house) so that it can be in the shade that is found only in front of my house underneath some really big oak trees. That is where I left her this afternoon when I came home from dropping Josh off at his school. As I headed back out to pick Matt up an hour or so later, I walked right into a big silky-webby inchworm battalion that had all decided to drop them selves from my oak tree to along my front walk. Unprepared for the ghoulish spider web type assault, and completely creeped out by the ticklish touchy feelings of it all over my face and arms, I did a rather spastic looking dance down my walk on my way towards the car. I wondered of anyone happened to see me. I wondered what I could call this walk of torture I had just performed. I immediately thought of the scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz getting off the pole only to discover he not only had very loose limbs, but was also walking on some sort of electrified yellow brick road. That visual seemed to fit. And that made me smile.

psycho mom

I got hate-mail! Technically I got "a" hate mail, but hey- I didn't have to link to anyone's angry blog to get it! This what Mike Sellar had to say "YOU ARE A PSYCHO MOTHER!!!! i can't believe the shit i read on ur site! you are truly fucked in the head to try and have that much control over a child! stop sheltering him, he'll grow up to be a big fuckin' weirdo if he's mommy's little boy his whole life. let him be and do his own thing!"

Hahaha. He said I'm a "psycho mother"!!! You know, Mike honey, you can cut me down in oh so many ways, but you called me a "psycho mother" and now Mike the joke is on you! Hahaha, good one Mike Sellar.

fat again

I have been meaning to post about my weight for the longest time, but first it was so hard to admit that I had gained 20 of the 50 lost pounds back, and then it was 25 and then 30 and then 40 and now I have officially gained 43 of the lost 50 pounds back. (I was going to write 42, but decided to be honest) I realize that there has been a combination of stress and pity eating going on here with me for the past year. Suddenly, last spring, I was feeling all sorry for myself that I couldn't eat wheat, and then last summer rye started to give me the nasty symptoms, then I had the mysterious headache and nausea all summer and fall (and who, I would like to know, besides me can gain 2 pounds a week for months solid when constantly nauseous?) then school started and I had to pretend that having a mere hour and a half a day between dropping off kids and picking up kids wasn't going to do me in, and then I was recognizably sick with that intestinal thing and had to do all those tests for a month before finding out what it was and I found out that there were even more foods I couldn't eat like tea, tomatoes, strawberries and corn (and a dozen or so others that are less worth mentioning) and all the pity eating I was doing took itself to even higher heights. Cause ice cream wasn't on that list of taboo foods! Then, as if I needed more stress, someone had to do something about grandma and I decided to step in and be the responsible party. I knew taking care of grandma was going to be a lot of work, but what I hadn't planned on was how the resentment of of mommy dearest and the scum-cle was going to claw at me. And now, at the end of it all, I stand here, almost as heavy as I was when I turned 40 (and thought I could possibly die any minute from all the extra weight) and I can't see any let up in the amount of stress in my life coming, since grandma isn't going anywhere, mom and dad might both be sick with cancer, our even because home in utopia won't be finished being rebuilt by this summer, and right now every time I look in the mirror I want to be able to slap some sense (as in sensible eating) into myself.

All this good for nothingness in addition to the internet not being the same place of comfort and sharing it used to be for me. After last January's linking disaster (which I am not linking to, you can call it post-linking-stress disorder) I just haven't felt the friendliness and sense of community I thought was here. And I gotta tell you that probably the ugliest part of the whole incident, even uglier to me than the angry folks on that other web site telling me to perform sexual acts upon them, was when three of the internet's big time bloggers, all of whom I had been reading and commenting to, and feeling some connection with, for a couple of years, all decided to hop onto my site at the same time and comment. Normally I would have fallen on the floor from the excitement of seeing Melissa, Mrs. Kennedy and Alice (no links!!) all commenting on my blog, but to me it felt like some movie scene in which the cool-girl cheerleaders corner the clueless girl who dared to dream she could fit in and cruelly smashed/dashed her dreams. I had been cyber-bullied when I thought I was (or could be) one of them (as in:popular bog writers) and it felt horrible. Not that cool was what I was going for, what I wanted (and still do want) is some recognition as a writer. I enjoy writing so much. After the incident I thought about not blogging, I felt like everything I wrote for a while I had to force a bit, but then I reminded myself that the blog isn't for anyone I don't know, it's for my own enjoyment and maybe one day for my kids to get a glimpse of who I was and what I valued (you guys! I valued you, my children, more than anything!) and made the decision to keep at it, with very careful and limited linking. Also, I don't comment on other blogs nearly as much as I used to (and certainly not on those three), and that used to be fun for me. sigh. Is this why I haven't posted about my weight? Have I not posted because the internet turned on me? Not likely. I can't even fool myself into thinking it is, because really, why I haven't said anything is because I am disappointed in myself and also embarrassed. But I did imagine that there was some unconditional internet love fest that wasn't really there.

But, back to food, here is the very stupid thing that I can't get my mind around. I can't seem to wrap my mind around what a little amount of food people actually need to maintain a healthy weight. I weigh as much as two people because I eat enough for three people. Really, I do, I know that I do. Seriously, there is nothing wrong with my metabolism. I eat like I'm never going to see food again. And I do that every day. I'm great fun at parties, I never hold back. This past week two drug store magazines had articles on people who lost a ton of weight. They all did it the old fashioned way through diet and exercise. Both magazines had little boxes with what these weight problem conquering people ate each day and they ate hardly anything. They ate in an entire day what I manage to snack on between my three generous meals. And I notice my friends eating too. They leave things over on their plates. That is foreign to me. And they don't eat ice cream every day. And if they do, they aren't eating the whole pint. So, in this overwhelming time here, where I could literally eat 24/7, and I am pretty sure I would do it in lieu if actually literally really falling apart, I am trying to grasp and internalize the reality of my relationship with food and see my eating for what it really is, which is pretty much a crutch for every emotion I am capable of feeling. Happy? Eat! Anxious? Eat! Angry? Eat! Stressed? Eat some more! and the same goes for everything else. Since I am not going to have the smooth sailing summer I was anticipating to get myself together during then I am going to have to do it while everything is falling apart around me. Really, I don't feel like I have a choice. I have to deal with this issue. I have to deal with it now. I am tired of this issue infringing on the rest of my life.

Here I am, 50 pounds down, 43 pounds up, in the physically strongest shape of my life. I can run 3 miles, bike as far as I want, pump iron, and do endless sit ups, and yet, I am close to my heaviest weight ever. I can't pretend that being as strong as I am is going to protect me from all the obesity related diseases forever. Eventually it is going to catch up with me, and I'd like to put the weight behind me before that happens. I want to be healthy. I don't want to be sick. I have got to find a way to cope with what ever comes my way without reaching for the fridge. And if anyone is reading or not, I am going to try to work these things out in writing, because keeping quiet didn't do anything for me, so this time I am going to try being honest even if I am not having a good day.

adoration, cancer and messed up technology

Josh has a tight circle of preschool buddies that still get together at a local playground every Thursday afternoon after school. They are lovely kids with lovely moms, and I try to get there as often as I can. Normally, if I am headed over there, I'll pick up Josh, pick up Evan and then head over with Evan held captive in the car. I like to make Evan go because, even though he doesn't admit it, I think he enjoys how much the younger kids look up to him. The little ones are absolutely drawn to him, and besides I want Evan to get some exercise too, even if it has to come from running away from his little brothers friends. I know the younger kids enjoy Evan and the rough daring older guy games he plays with them, but it really hit home the other day when Josh and two of his friends were playing on a non-Thursday playground excursion when Evan wasn't there. The kids were on the swings and before they could begin they decided who would "be Evan" and that boy got to imitate the way Evan does his little dance in front of the swinging kids letting their feet just barely miss hitting him and cracking them up the whole time. Then on Thursday I dragged Evan back to the playground where all the friends go and all the boys circled him like flies to a piece of old meat, and they all wanted to touch him and chase him, and do what he did and watch him perform in front of the swing for them, and I hoped with all my heart that Evan, the boy who was born feeling gypped and the one who can never get enough love, attention or recognition, recognized just for a few seconds how sweet and pure the admiration and love from these little kids was, and that they were offering him enough little boy worship to fill anyone's love quota for the day.

But suddenly, that all seems so trivial because I spoke to mommy dearest on the phone today. The cancer that they removed from her in March 2006, the one that the surgeon assured my mother was just a fibroid and not cancerous, which turned out to be cancerous once the labs came back, seems to have returned somewhere else in her abdomen. I can't say anything for sure, but what I know is that mom had a cat scan because she was in pain and is being told that the same cancer that was found in the fibroid is back. More tests are needed. At the same time Dad, who has fought all kinds of cancer from melanoma to colon cancer has had a high psa reading for his testicular cancer checkup (originally diagnosed and treated in 1999). He needs more tests too. And now I am sitting here, hoping for the best, not believing it could ever happen, and wondering how I am going to explain all this to grandma.

As if I'm not all annoyed and worried to such a great extent that the rest of my life should be seamlessly sweet, the satellite service man just left. My appointment window was from 12 to 4 PM. He arrived at 5:30. Don't ya just love how that feels? I know I don't need to tell you how many errands I could have run in that time period, or that I gave up a babes lunch to sit around doing nothing all day, but that aside, my family has lived with this pain-in-the-butt moody service for years. I always have to get on the floor and plug it all out and then plug it all in and restart it all. We got some new remotes that were unprogrammable. We haven't been able to order a pay per view for ages. The guy takes a 90 second look at the receiver and says to me "This receiver is messed up, you need a new one". And it was as simple as that excpet now I feel like I have been the brunt of a big cosmic joke, cause I suspect that normal people would have sent their messed up receivers back from the get go, but I have wasted countless hours on the phone with their fricking automated support and also stomping around all angry and frustrated and possibly taking it out on the kids and the whole time it was all the fault of their sucky receiver.

I hate it that life isn't fair.

wild thing

When I was a first year teacher and had to fill out report cards for the first time I went to the local teacher's store and picked up a book of report card comments that could give a light hearted spin to the most delinquent criminal in the class. This book was priceless. It listed typical student traits and gave sample comments that a teacher could use, comments that sounded professional that would not incite a parent to slit your throat on the spot or follow you home and burn down your apartment building. That book was priceless, and I marveled at how there was something to describe each and every kid I had in my little (traumatized,emotionally disturbed, learning disabled) class.

Fast forward 19 years, and I happen to have the kinds of kids that (almost) always come through for me in public situations. In a restaurant my kids are ideal. Airplane? A dream come true. Play dates? They are remarkably polite and courteous. Even in school where they have to spend day in and day out with their teachers, they usually maintain that perfect child aura. I marvel at how the kids are able to charm the pants off of their teachers year after year. Naturally, I see a more, ahem, "relaxed" side of them at home and then I, perhaps mistakenly, attribute that to them being regular old normal kids. Knowing how well they are able to maintain the illusion of perfection for long periods of time, I still have my moments of doubt and sometimes find myself maybe praying a little in certain situations, like opening their report cards for example.

Today Evan's religious school report card came in the mail. His teacher seemed to have a good handle on just who Evan really is, (the real Evan, not the public persona Evan) and I can tell Evan's religious school teacher didn't get his comments from the book.

This is what Evan's teacher wrote:

"What a creative and imaginative young man! There were times when I struggled to keep Evan on point, or to pull his stories around so they connected to the ones we were studying. Truth is, much of The Bible is a parade of battles and military strategies, so Evan's knowledge of modern warfare helped the group relate to the ancient tales. The boy mind is a wild thing- his is wonderful to behold."

Evan, my little assualt rifle toting wild thing.