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“You stare at me
And ask me questions
Makes me nervous
The room it keeps a constant tone
While I’m on a roller coaster.”
-Kate Havnevik
I have spent a good chunk of time in my life sitting on the things that are bothering me rather than talk them out or address them or try to resolve the conflict. Sometimes I try to peek out of that shell, but it seems I can’t quite do it. Sometimes I try to talk and try to be honest and try to open up and it makes my hands shake with nervousness and the fear of revealing who I am to someone. It’s scary stuff.
“And oh my dreams
It’s never quite as it seems
Never quite as it seems…”
-The Cranberries
Lately, it seems my short term memory is completely shot (I’m blaming the Lameass Thyroid™, because otherwise it’s age or the fact that I’ve got so many irons in the fire, I’m just losing my mind. I’d rather blame the Thyroid). The one area that seems to not be affected though is my dream life. Lately, not only have I been having crazy vivid dreams – but I’m remembering them.
The other night, I dreamt that all the enamel had worn off my teeth – it looked very gross – and believe you me, I did one hell of a job brushing ‘em when I woke up that day. Now, the dream where your teeth all fall out, that’s supposed to be good luck. When all the enamel wears off? What the hell does that mean?
Last night, I dreamed I was standing on the beach at the edge where the water met the sand. The water was rushing over my feet and then I heard a noise. I looked up and a little prop job plane was falling nose first towards the water. It crashed with a tremendous splash of water about 30 feet from the beach, and then I joined a group on the beach searching for the survivors. Instead, I found a little boy, probably about five years old, floating in the water near the beach.
It was horrible.
My dreamer’s dictionary says that “Whatever its origin or cause, a crash in your dream heralds an important achievement, and the louder or bigger the crash the more noteworthy will be the accomplishment.” So… it’s supposed to be good? Also, “It’s a happy omen of success to see a body in your dream and this is so whether the body was beautiful or deformed. A female body pertains to a social success while a male body signifies business achievement.” Still, it’s supposed to be good? And then there’s this: “To dream of a death frequently signifies news of a birth. To be aware of a dead person you cannot identify portends an inheritance which may not be personal but indirectly beneficial.”
You see, everything about this dream sounds like it means good stuff. But it freaked the hell out of me. Take a stab- either analyze my dream, or tell me one of yours.
“I don’t need no one to tell me about heaven
I look at my daughter and I believe…”
-Live
Today, my youngest turns three years old and it amazes me that the time has gone by so fast because honestly, I remember the day she was born so vividly (except the pain – seriously, when they tell you that you forget that part, it’s true. I had two completely natural, no epidural, no-nothin’ births and made it through just fine).
My labor for her was short. I woke up at 2:30 in the morning feeling a bit iffy, not sure what I was feeling and I got up and took a bath, figuring, well, I’ll just wait and see if this is something or if it’s nothing. I remember soaking in the tub and my husband waking up and poking his head in the door and me telling him, “I think this is it.” He called the doc (she’d meet us at the hospital) and he called my mom (she’d come over to hang with my sleeping daughter). I pulled my pregnant ass out of the tub, threw on some clothes (hottest freakin’ week in July, pregnant – that was some seriously stupid timing), and waddled out to the car.
The drive to the hospital was a smooth one – not a lot of traffic at 3:30 in the morning. No red lights to run through (my husband was somewhat giddy driving through the hospital with my older daughter – I think he was half hoping to get pulled over running a red light so he could get a police escort to the hospital – drama drama drama). We arrived at the hospital at the same time my doc did, she walked us up, and she was by my side essentially the whole time. This is why I will forever advocate having a family doc versus an ob-gyn deliver a baby – for my older daughter, my OB was there for like two seconds to catch her at the end. My family doc was there to get me ice, or talk to me, or keep my husband from turning on ESPN in the delivery room. Less than two hours after we arrived at the hospital, my daughter was taking her first breaths, and crying her first cry.
It doesn’t even feel like three years to me. Maybe because I know that I am not having any more kids, or because I’ve been able to stay at home this time around, I’m paying a lot more attention. I feel sorta bad – I know my little one a lot better than my older one at that point. She’s a snuggly, cuddly mama’s girl. I watch her gauge a situation and it’s like I’m watching myself sometimes – she takes it all in, and then slowly makes her way into the thick of it. My older one? Nah – head first she goes. She’s got this extreme confidence. My little one can be quite confident too… when she’s ready.
But on the other hand – she’s this fearless kid. No qualms about anything. She’s on the swing, she demands to be pushed higher. On the jungle gym at the park, she’ll get as close to the edge as I’ll let her. She climbs ladders. She wants dad to throw her in the air super high – no higher!
Her back is ticklish. If you run the tips of your fingers lightly on either side of her spine, she bursts into these giggling fits. She doesn’t like to wear her hair in pony tails or in barettes. She prefers dresses to pants. She loves pigs – real or stuffed. She says “branch” instead of “ranch”. She loves apples with peanut butter, hold the apples. Strawberry milk makes her happy. If I leave a pack of gum on the table, she’ll run off with it, open every piece and try to chew it before I catch her (I always catch her in the unrwrapping stage or as she’s putting the first piece in). She loves one of the neighbor’s dogs. She hates the dogs that belong to the asshole next door. She wants to do what her big sister does.
It’s funny… I thought, “Two kids, same mom and same dad…They’ll be so much alike.” I have no experience with it really – my brother and I share the same mom and dad – but, it’s different because all of his birth defects factor in so we’re obviously completely different. There are several sets of siblings in our neighborhood and the younger ones are little carbon copies of the older ones. Not my kids - not at all. It’s insane – a blondie and a redhead (it’s now more of a strawberry blonde). One more athletically built, one more petite. Both with blue eyes, but such different blues.
But, the one thing they have in common for sure is that I love ‘em both tremendously, completely and unconditionally. Even on the days they make me crazy, because I’m human.
Today, we’ll have family over for cake and ice cream. We’ll take the girls out for some special stuff. We’ll hang out and do family stuff and just dote on the birthday girl (I think she needs a tiara – must go buy a tiara). I can’t believe how quickly the time passes.
“I go out every night and sleep all day
Since you took your love away…”
-Sinead O’Connor
This song was popular when I was in 8th grade – I had never heard it when I still lived in California. All of my friends listened to rap, R&B, and those slow jams that always had those low, spoken interludes that said stuff like, “Oh baby, oh baby, I don’t know what I would do if you don’t come back to me…” (As a side note, my dad used to laugh at those – “Can you imagine if I tried to talk to my wife that way? She’d LAUGH AT ME!”).
Today, my oldest is having a slumber party. There are a few first-graders downstairs squealing and jumping on my couch. I’ve been trying to distract myself by curling up with a fluff book. I’m re-reading “Sammy’s Hill” by Kristin Gore – Al Gore’s daughter. It’s surprisingly funny, also, surprisingly chick-lit-y. The main character references “Nothing Compares 2 U” though, and so now I’ve had it in my head for the past hour (which is impressive since the Hannah Montana concert is on tv right now – rather loudly, at that).
Whatever happened to Sinead? Besides that whole Pope-picture burning thing?
“Sorry
Is all that you can’t say
Years go by and still
Words don’t come easily
Like sorry, like sorry…”
-Tracy Chapman
We’re in the midst of an early-onset midlife crisis in my house. No, not mine. My husband. Yeah, he’s hitting the midlife crisis hardcore and no, he’s not wanting a Mustang or some other shiny, red-hot sports car. Nope. The man wants a motorcycle.
It’s funny – any woman I have mentioned this to has gone through this very thing with her significant other – and if she hasn’t, she knows someone who has. It’s apparently a pretty common affliction, I’m seeing – and wondering if it’s the whole psychological aspect of having all that power between one’s legs that creates the allure of the motorcycle. Whatever it is, I don’t get it.
I don’t get it and yet I’ve heard at least ten mentions of a motorcycle on any given day. That would be a slow day, mind you. And quite frankly, at the beginning of this week I was tremendously pissed off because the motorcycle talk all of the sudden got quite REAL. Real as in – “It’s gonna cost $x” and “I’ve called this dealership and they have what I’m looking for” and “I can finance this in x, y or z ways”. Um – really? Because, you know, this is what some might consider to be a BIG TICKET item, the kind of thing that couples discuss and make decisions about TOGETHER.
I was stewing. Inside, I was just stewing. Of course, as I do I kind of stuffed it because I wasn’t wanting to talk about it, but Monday evening my husband was pouting around the house, not really talking, not smiling, in an obviously shitty mood and when I asked what was up, the responses alternated between “Nothing” and “I’m just in a funk and don’t know why.”
Normally, I’d have left it alone. It’s not my style to pry when someone, even my own husband, doesn’t want to talk about what’s bugging them. I tend to leave it open-ended with an offer to listen when they are ready to talk, but I could tell he was seriously bothered, so I gave in and basically made him talk to me (Yes, brilliant, right?).
And the deal is this: My opposition to the motorcycle is “an issue” to him. He’s very bothered that he feels that he needs my blessing, that I get the final say-so. I said to him, “But that’s not it AT ALL. I don’t need the final say so, I just wanted us to talk about this together. I felt as though you had made this decision without consulting me, that you felt it was a done deal, and given that they are so expensive, I really felt this should have been a joint decision.”
At which point, I expected if not an apology, but at least an “Oh, that’s not what I meant at all!” We could have springboarded into the talk and all coulda been a-okay. Instead, he opted to get defensive about stuff he wants versus stuff I’ve wanted and gotten (seriously, though – you can’t compare a motorcycle that costs several thousand dollars to an iPhone – I could buy ten iPhones and still not even hit half the cost of a bike).
I didn’t want to fight about it. I just wanted to talk about it….
He came home from work the next day and we sat down. Again, he mentioned the motorcycle. Again, I reiterated: it’s not the bike, it’s the fact that I wanted to be a part of determining how we spend our money. It was then that he gave me what I had been looking for the night before: “Until you said that, I hadn’t realized you felt that way, and I certainly never meant to give that impression.”
Progress.
Will he get a motorcycle? Probably. We’ve agreed to sit down and talk financials and budget and see if it fits. (Will he find a way to make it fit? I’m sure of it). Will I get the new iPhone 3G? Well, I wasn’t gonna, but now I think I just might.
Marriage can be a tricky beast – and money issues are crazier than anything. Particularly for me. Growing up in a household without a lot of extra cash, I think I’m often a little too sensitive to the fear of getting over-extended. I have never carried credit card debt EVER, and aside from student loans (mine have been paid off for over a year, his are still looming large), the only debt we carry is a mortgage. Do I want to jump at the chance to buy a motorcycle? Not so much… but… I’m sure we will.
“If it makes you happy
It can’t be that bad
If it makes you happy
Than why the hell are you so sad?”
-Sheryl Crow
Yesterday was a bit of a roller coaster, I received an email from my mom around 1 telling me my grandmother was in the ER with what they believed to be a stroke. Constant updates all day and worrying about my family kind of took its toll on me, and I was relieved later to find out that her tests all came back a-okay, that it was not actually a stroke, and that the doctors were releasing her to go home. Whew. It’s kind of a reminder, of sorts to take stock and take note of your blessings. So, I’m tripping over to the corny side and making a list today of what I’m grateful for:
- My grandmother is healthy
- Well, my whole family is healthy for the most part. That’s good stuff
- I got my kid potty trained (I set her 3rd birthday as a goal)
- Long hot baths in my big ginormous tub
- My kids make me smile
- My youngest made me laugh so hard last night which made her laugh harder which made me laugh harder – it was hilarious
- My mother’s helper is hanging with the kids so I can get work done today (I’m not just blogging – I swear)
- Resolved yucky tense argument with my husband
- Coke Zero
- Warm, not stifling temperatures
- Heath Ledger’s kick-ass performance in “Dark Knight” (seriously, better than I’d anticipated – even with all the hype. It’s not just hype).
- Super cold water with ice
- Got a magazine in the mail so I can ditch this trashy novel I’m reading
- Saw that WordPress has an iPhone app (yay)
- Counting Crows released a new album on iTunes yesterday of live stuff
- I’ve managed to avoid buying the new Miley Cyrus cd for my kiddo
- I bought the movie “Juno” on DVD the other day, and plan to watch it til I can’t stand it anymore. “Oh my blog!”
- Sent my friend a box of Tootsie Pops and Sharpies for her birthday and she got it already! I love sending presents.
I’m gonna stop. I keep thinking of stuff. Which is good. Very very good.
“Well I don’t want a shrink
Don’t even want a drink
Give me some chocolate and a magazine…”
-Trisha Yearwood
I think we all know by now that I can be a little moody. Today, I’m pretty much on the way to moody – my husband and I had a “discussion” last night (also known as “his perception is reality and my perception is wrong and too bad for you”), I’m tired and I am more than just a little bloated. When I’m feeling like this there are a few things that soothe me – exercise is one. Music is another. Reading is a third.
If I can engage myself in any of those three things when I’m in a funky, chances are I can ease my mood if not zap it altogether.
What is your surefire bad-mood-zapper?
“Getting to know you,
Getting to know all about you…”
-The King and I*
*I have no idea who sings this song in the musical or movie – I’ve never seen it. I learned this song when I was a kid because my dad’s wife LOVED this song. I have oddly vivid recollection of her singing, “Haven’t you noticed, suddenly I’m bright and breezy?” Anyway. Whatever.
I’ve got nothing to talk about today. I’m currently choking down a salad when I really want to be eating whipped cream out of a can, and I’m sitting on my ass when I maybe should be squeezing in a workout. Since I’m currently out of witty fantastic things to say, I’m going to give you an OPPORTUNITY.
For the next few days, should the spirit move you, if you’ve got a question for me, go ahead and ask it – in the comments, via email, or whatever. I will answer nearly anything (note: if it goes on a credit card app, I won’t answer it – so don’t ask me for my social security number, address or my mother’s maiden name. Not happening).
Have at it. Give me something to talk about.
“Will it ever stop?
Yo, I don’t know
Turn off the lights
and I’ll glow…”
-Vanilla Ice
Thought I’d plant an earworm for the lazy Sunday afternoon. As I type this, I hear my husband mowing the lawn, the downstairs bathroom fan chugging away (I’m not sure why my stepson insists on using that fanbut it doesn’t really take away the smell, and it’s so freaking loud it sounds like the house is caving in), and the asshole neighbor’s dogs are at it again. Late this week, my (nearly) three-year old asked to be let out on the deck so she could yell at the dogs: “Shut your yappers!” she screamed. I laughed. My neighbor looked more than mildly pissed off about being screamed at by a toddler. Whatever buddy. Train your dogs.
I’m in a bitchy mood today, so I figure it’s best to hole up in the office and avoid people until the mood passes. Not sure what my problem is – I think I was up too late last night – spent several hours on the latest home improvement project. It took me several hours to paint the dining room and kitchen, and mid way through the process I had to pluck a mosquito out of the wet paint on the wall and redo that section. Fucking mosquitos. This morning, I’ve been trying to restore order to the chaos of my kitchen, but find that one of the many little elves in my house is apparently following behind me creating more chaos in its wake. I intend to start teaching a few classes in my home, one of them being: “Here Is Your Dishwasher, and This is How You Open It”. Graduates of that class will move on to “So You’ve Dirtied A Dish – A Primer On How To Put It In The Dishwasher”. More advanced classes will be created if anyone can get through the first two. I’m not optimistic.
I cleaned (or tried to) and in between that, I got to referree the girl fights that my daughters insisted on having today. Hair pulling, yelling, and that lovely 800-decibel screaming. (Really, I don’t know why I’m so cranky). My youngest spent a decent chunk of time in time-out today and the oldest spent some quality time stewing in her room.
Playing with my kids a bit later this morning, my youngest ran and tackled me, knocking me backwards and I smacked my head into the wall. Of course, this was alright because it gave my oldest the opportunity to play Golden Child, doting on me and getting an ice pack out of the freezer for me.
I hit the trailer for three miles and even coated with bug-spray, I committed numerous acts of mosquito homicide. I found one mosquito carcass in the crook of my knee when I returned home. Gross. I was able to keep up my pace with the whole “learning to run” thing (nope, still don’t love it, but realized that the faster I’m moving the less mosquitos land on me – so there’s a distinct pro to running). I came home and have been reasonably “chilled out” since.
This afternoon, we’ll celebrate the birthday of my sister’s boyfriend (I baked a cake, it’s beautiful) and then leave the kiddos with my mom while we have a pseudo-date-night watching “Dark Knight”. Yeah, I’m just like every other sucker in the world jumping to see this movie, and admittedly, it’s partly the Heath Ledger thing. I haven’t seen the other Batman movies – even the George Clooney one (George does nothing for me), but in reading about the techniques used to shoot this movie and all the positive reviews – well, I’m just gonna be like everyone else. And hey, I love going to the movies, so win-win.
Have a great Sunday everyone.
