Archive for June, 2009

Mama Kin…

Sunday, June 28th, 2009

It’s funny and a little unnerving how quickly he changes. After waiting for it for 19 months, after sucking it up when he said Dada, then Sassa (my mother’s preference to being called Grandma), sucking it up when he said Al (our large cat), or bug, big boy, big girl and catchy little phrases like, What IS this! Oh wow!, he has finally, FINALLY called me Mama. Mmmmama, he says, pointing at me or a picture of me. One minute, he had never said it. The next: Mmmmmama!

I think I was as suprised as he was by the ecstatic squeals emitted from mommy, by the shouting and hugging and kissing that went on, the clumsy pirouettes and mad doorbell ringing, the banging together of the lids of pots and pans and the faux American Indian rain dance thing. That’s right, baby, that’s right! I told him. I’m your Mmmmmmmmmmmama!

Odd to think that in years to come Mama, Mom, Mommy, Yo Ma!, Mother Darling, Dearest Revered and Respected Mamma—odd to think how commonplace those terms of endearment will sound. How Mmmmmama will fall by the wayside of Ordinary, a faded blue bead sunk in the backyard dirt pile. How this word will no longer make me euphoric when uttered by my son for general identification purposes or as an urgent summons.

Then again, maybe this particular little flame of excitement and joy never dies, not really, but lives on, like Aerosmith or Rocky Road ice cream.




Strange Dreams…

Saturday, June 27th, 2009

Since we moved into the Ponderosa (aka Seabiscuit), I’ve been having the strangest dreams at night in my new blue and white bedroom. Here’s last night’s:

I’m in England or Ireland doing a play and it’s getting close to stage time but Bono is around and he and I have to make up or I’m going to go crazy and not be able to perform so I wave at him from across a crowded room and he waves back and yells he has to go jog and suddenly I am Bono jogging through a city filled with old-world spires and he’s/I’m nodding at people as he/I jog in my jeans and long black wool coat and he’s/I’m enjoying life as I jog through a cobbled square because I’ve made up with me and all is well and suddenly I’m running down a hallway to a green room where some actresses are sitting and I’m telling them breathlessly that Bono and I have made up and have they seen him but they say no and look sort of non-plussed about it all and I turn around and there down the hall is Bono flanked by two women I seem to know and they’re coming along the hall and I rush to Bono and we embrace not passionately but firmly only now Bono is a short dark haired woman with a wise smile and someone I have never met although everyone calls her Bono and suddenly I’m positive I’ve seen her on Oprah.

And then I woke up, bemused. One thing I know for sure: I’m going to listen to some U2 today.


The Tip Of The Wave…

Sunday, June 21st, 2009

I checked in recently with my dear friends Moot Mommy and Moot Daddy. If you will recall, Moot Daddy was laid off from the company that said it would never go away just as escrow was closing on Moot Mommy and Moot Daddy’s new home. Although Moot Daddy has yet to secure a new permanent position, although Moot Mommy’s emotions are all over the map as she races after their energetic toddler and frets about what to feed everybody next since she has no working oven and an extremely limited budget, mostly, however, Moot Mommy and Moot Daddy are riding the “tip of the fast-moving wave”, vs. wallowing in a hideous, life-sucking trough.

It’s not easy to ride the tip of the wave. There are many matters to worry about in between trips to Lowe’s and fixing up a fixer-upper and minding a toddler. “In order to stay on the tip of the wave you’re riding, it’s vital to remember present miracles,” Moot Mommy and Moot Daddy told me (as I took notes).

Present Miracle Number One (The Moots told me): Escrow on our new home closed. Despite Moot Daddy’s silly company letting him go, despite Escrow not having to close, it did. It. Frikkin’. Closed! Yes, we had minor meltdowns during the excruciating waiting period, but 99% of the time we kept positive and kept a kind of faith in the Universe providing for us. Seriously! Then: Miracle! Gift! Whatever you want to call it (The Moots told me). We’re here, living in our investment, there’s a yard for our son, and with the help of family the place is really coming together.

Two (The Moots told me): Family! Also friends and friends-of-family and even some strangers. You just never know (the Moots told me, meaning Moot Mommy’s cousins who had decided to buy all new furniture just as Moot Mommy and Moot Daddy were moving and to give to Moot Mommy and Moot Daddy their barely used, like new couches and 55″ TV. Score!) where abundance is going to come from. Nor should you try to know where abundance is going to come from. Just—let it come.

Three (they told me): Ask for things. Like–well, not only new jobs, but S hooks. Moot Daddy really needed a certain kind of S hook for a certain backyard project and, in his own way, asked for it and suddenly: as he was raking up the yard, there turned up two, not one, but two S hooks, unearthed in our dirt. This may sound a very small thing to receive, S hooks (The Moots told me). However, a trip saved from going to the hardware store when you’re fixing up the fixer-upper and keeping a baby from discovering the skin-puncturing and the rusted-dangerous? Miracle! Gift! Etc.! The most appreciated S hooks we’ve ever had.

Four (they told me, watching their toddler water his sandbox with the garden hose): We repeat the “You just never know” bit. Listen: before Moot Daddy was laid off, we were looking for a Playhouse on Craig’s List. After Moot Daddy was laid off, we decided to wait on buying one, then—bam! Our friends called out of the blue and offered us an extremely new looking, electronics-working playhouse. They even delivered it and assembled it for us. Kind of like the S hooks scenario, only better. Miracle! Gift! Family! Friends! Get it? Hope so (Moot Mommy and Moot Daddy told me, corralling the toddler and heading indoors), because we’re too frikkin’ tired to talk to you anymore, PB. Naptime. See yourself out? Buh-bye.

Hi there!

Anti-Parent Incident!

Tuesday, June 16th, 2009

It was a morning like any other on Facebook: Friends dropping one-liners about their moods, ice cream preferences, quiz results, the June Gloom, etc. One “friend”, an unmarried, childless, single “friend” who requested I be her “friend” months ago, wrote that she never follows those who identify themselves as parents on Twitter because the parents say unforgivable, disgusting, asinine things like, “My kid’s puke is cute.”

Comments on this comment by my “friend” followed swiftly. One young man wrote:

“And don’t even get me started about people who post profile pictures of their pets or their kids!”

And a young woman who confessed to being a twit who doesn’t Twitter, wrote:

“I don’t understand that at all!”


That’s when I jumped in with what I naively considered a Laughingly-Commenting type comment, stating oh those silly parents do and say strange things due to lack of sleep and trying to keep toddlers alive, ha ha, and I Laughingly Commented that because I’m a parent I do my best to understand and forgive other parents for the crazy things we do, especially after the annoying things I’ve done as a parent, like proudly displaying all of the pictures of my kid in my wallet to total strangers, although (I wrote) I would never Twitter about my kid’s puke. Still (I inferred), I understand parents who do Twitter about puke or poop. Puke and poop are huge parts of our lives, us parents of the teeny-tiny. The paradox being that until you’re a parent you can’t truly know the hell, shock and awe you can be put through. As. A. Parent. Ha ha. Tra la. Hoo. Hee. Ha.

When I should have simply ignored or “unfriended” my “friend” right then and there, or, as a fellow mommy bud of mine (a canny, witty, wildly creative, fantastic mommy I admire) advised me, “Just kick her off the bus.”

My Facebook “friend” commented swiftly on my comment. She wrote (basically), that the “Unless you’re a parent you can’t know” line is used way too often to excuse completely unacceptable behavior from kids and the parents who can’t control them, behavior that she, my “friend”, believes she simply should not have to “put up” with (I assume she means in public). Then my “friend” coolly, condescendingly thanked me for not “baby-tweeting.”

Does my “friend” hang out in playgrounds? Does she live in a pre-school? Please. She’s a single woman constantly Tweeting and FB’ing about where her next cocktail is coming from. She spends A LOT of time researching upscale happy hours (per FB posts). Is she really coming into contact with that many harried parents sucking down martinis in between disciplining their toddlers from the doorways of swanky bars? Jayden–give that woman back her iphone! Bartender, three olives this time and make it dirty–Fitzroy Blane The F****** Third! Get the hell away from that stiletto!

ASS****!!! I muttered irately after reading my “friend’s” comment. A loud buzzing filled my ears. I saw red. I was beyond irate. I was—Uber Irate. I “unfriended” my “friend” and blocked her from contacting me.

I ranted and raged at the computer screen with a passion that excluded Zen kindness or patience or understanding or forgiveness—but then I had to paint the bathroom, clean out filthy cupboards, wash the cat poop off the brand new comforter and feed my toddler and I forgot about the nasty start to my day. I’m still annoyed (obviously) by my “friend’s” comments, but the kicking her off my bus part of my day really hit home. Life is short, etc., and my boy is growing so fast. I don’t have time to be mad at someone who may become a mother some day herself and have the parenting light bulb flash on and realize that thinking your kid’s puke is cute is far, far better than the alternative and makes for a healthier mind and provides a crumb of staid sanity in the many, many extremely long days of being a mother, or father, or caregiver in charge of the following: Raising the future.

Well, parents, there’s plenty of seating in my bus—whether you think your kid’s puke, poop or snot is cute, or whether you’re just plain overwhelmed by parenting. Come in, sit (don’t you love my sky-blue paisley bus cushions!), breathe and sip a libation of your choice. Understand. Forgive. Breathe.


PS. Thank you B! Your bus is grand, grand.

Now THAT’S cute!

Blog Braaaaaaake…

Sunday, June 14th, 2009

Said in Sean Connery voice: I don’t know what day it is, damn you! I have been moving forever! Get. Me. My. Mother! Get me a chocolate-filled croissant—w/the Eiffel Tower! Then get me a Scotch Egg. Will this madness ever stop! Why is it so quiet in the suburbs? Ah—ack—I hear a dog’s bark. A little dog. Barking. Not a baby—a dog. A Scotch dog! Damn it! Now I’m hungry!


Lowes Is A Many Splendored…

Thursday, June 11th, 2009

This store is so near us and so helpful in so many ways.

He was munching on rice cake as we wheeled him around. Occasionally and more often than not, he would shout for joy, startling others, cracking us up.

We got a lot of shopping done thanks to the dual steering wheels.

Blog Break: Baby Again…

Tuesday, June 9th, 2009

Current spate of Blog Breaks featuring the baby are due to parents renovating new home while watching a toddler, meaning we prime/paint/clean/hammer/paste glow-in-the-dark stars on ceiling beam/etc in shifts. This does not leave time for: writing poetry, blogging, sanity. I don’t believe I’ve ever felt so tired in my life. However, the good news is: it’s all good. We are extremely grateful for our new home and to have a yard for T. We move in this weekend and look forward to getting a new routine going for us, T and the 3 shi***** on everything, pissing on our shoes, regurgitating, discombobulated, terrified of change cats. Ponderosa? Here we come! (not soon enough!)

It was hell to assemble, but worth the result.
The New Sandbox


Tuesday, June 2nd, 2009

Decisions are made and BAM, life is changed forever. Once, my toddler and I had a routine. Now, the routine is a semblance of its former self—it is Jenny-Craiged routine, thinned and thinning, in dire transition, affecting everyone with giddy upset—affecting the canny toddler, the paint-spattered parents, the dirty dishes piled and repiled in the sink, the laundry mound, blog posts and the cats (morning upchucks and peeing on the laundry mound up 100% this week). Also affecting—bizarrely, perversely, wonderfully—the toddler’s sleep schedule. For the past two nights he has not woken up at 2am and 4am and 6am with strangled cries, but slept from 8:30p.m. until 6:00a.m., been soothed and slept another hour and 45 minutes. Can that sleeping-through-the-night thing actually be happening to us, despite the upset of routine? Or because of? A fantastically welcome mystery! I do know that despite (not because of) the paint fumes I’m inhaling daily, I am a different person in 2 days from getting a solid 7 plus hours of sleep. Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeep. And although I have learned never to expect the expected from my toddler, I am hopeful this current sleep pattern will continue well into the rest of forever. Ahhhhhh. Now if I can only get him to say “Mama.”