Good Morning, Sunshine!

There’s a whole process to follow. A routine. And if I skip a beat of it, the whole day is a disaster.

My alarm sounds at 4:45 AM. Good thing I’m a morning person. Good thing I’m not one who needs to hit the snooze button seventeen hundred times before actually lifting my body up and putting my feet on the floor.

1. I go to the bathroom, shower, apply gel and hairspray to my hair and head out of the bathroom to open the door to Lovie’s room, shut off her sound machine, open the closet door so the light acting as night light brightens the room a bit.
2. I go into the kitchen, pour a sippy cup of milk and place it on the table, grab a couple pieces and bread and pop them in the toaster, and grab and water two eggs to medium boil.
3. As the eggs dance in the water and the bread crisps in the toaster oven, I head into the bathroom to apply some mascara, brush my teeth, apply some deodorant, apply more mascara, take my morning drugs (all legal- no worries), apply my under eye cream.
4. By then the toaster has dinged and the water is bubbling on the stove so I shut that off and rescue the eggs from the boiling hot water. Then I make my way into Lovie’s room.
5. If I’ve made enough noise, she’ll be awake but still lying there, ready for me to tickle her toes and turn my hand into a spider crawling on her arched back as she scrunches up into a ball trying to stifle the giggles.

While I need her to get up and be compliant that moment, I’ve learned that demands make it worse. I try to make it fun- a couple tickles, ask her what she wants to wear, kisses and hugs, raspberries on her tummy while getting her dressed as quickly as possible so that we can head back into the bathroom to brush teeth, wash face, do hair. (This is where the biggest struggle always comes. Every morning. I place her on the sink to brush her teeth and she has no interest. I try brushing and she slams her mouth shut, jerks her head from side to side. I try headlocking her and her arms block me from moving in with the brush. So I’ve succumbed to laying her ass on the floor and for some reason she lets me brush her teeth very easily then. No fuss. Whatever it takes.)

I take a wet wash cloth and wipe her face after brushing her teeth, and then it’s time for her hair. Since we don’t comb it when it’s dry and it’s always dry in the mornings, I just spray it with a frizz free tangle tamer and scrunch or throw it up into to ponytails if Princess Lovie will allow.

Then she grabs her milk off the kitchen table and heads into my bedroom to hop on the bed and watch TV for a few minutes with a snoring Daddy while I turn my eggs into a tinfoil wrapped sandwich (Lovie eats at school). Then I get dressed, get Lovie’s coat on, and by 6AM(ish) we’re heading for the door.

If I follow this routine, Lovie is pretty compliant (sans the damn toothbrushing). If I don’t follow this routine, Lovie’s a bear. She gets mean. She kicks. She says screams NO a lot. She cries.

So is she a morning person? Uh, if I’m gentle she is. Otherwise...NO. She’s a lot like her dad over there snoring in bed.

1.) Is your child a morning person? Share a story, picture or list of reasons that supports your opinion.

WW: 10 years in one file

inside that file holds the contents of my female parts for the past 10 years... the story of my issues with weight, heavy periods, birth control methods, 2 pregnancies, 1 miscarriage, 1 d&c, 1 birth, and a possible diagnosis of PMDD.

Sunshine

My dear sweet girl,

On this day, 2 years and 5 months ago, the greatest thing in the world happened... and it happened to me. You were born.

You fill my life with so much joy and happiness I never fully comprehended existed.

I thank the universe, daily, for letting me still be here to be witness to it all.

You truly are my sunshine, my only sunshine.


Today I'm seeking medical attention for the monster I am for two weeks out every month. I've always battled this monster but it wasn't until the past 6 months or so that things have become scarier and scarier. There are days when I don't even want to be around you and when I am, every little thing sets me off. I need help. And I pray that today I get that help.

For you, for me.

Yes, you are my sunshine, but even those bright rays can't help me up from the dark lately.

I love you more than words can ever say.

Broccoli Crunch Salad

 

originated from LowCarbFriends.com

I wish

... I could look this cool while sitting on my front stoop in 97 degree temperatures whilst nomming on a string cheese stick.

TILTW: 5/19-25

* Lovie is truly learning more and more every single day. I know this, but then there are moments when she really kinda sticks it to us with how vastly she's learning. Like the hashbrown/potatoes incident on Saturday. Or the ease in which she puts her ABC puzzle, which she hasn't touched in months, together. Or the way she totally understood that if she didn't stop screaming when we were in the car the other day (because I wouldn't let her hold the steaming hot personal pizza I got her for dinner), she wouldn't get to watch TV when we got home. (That last one really amazed me. I was tantruming right along with Lovie because she was so loud and then I took in a deep breath and said in a soft, calm voice "If you don't stop screaming, no TV when we get home." And she let out a quick whimper and that was all she wrote!)

* I've eaten low carb since Monday and am down 5 pounds. I didn't think I could do it again (I followed Atkins back in 2004-5 with immense success but then gained it all back and then some- which murdered my gusto at doing it ever again... or so I thought), but I've been struggling internally for a couple months now and I just had to do something. I tried Weight Watchers last year and lost 30 pounds but gained it all back, and eating low carb is so much easier for me than counting calories and figuring out what the points are to foods. Plus, because I have mild diabetes, it's best I stay away from all sugar and ... I just felt so fucking amazing, so alive when I was low carbing. And I so desperately want that feeling back because now I've got my Lovebug to share that energy with. Wish me luck. Please, wish me luck.

* Last night was a bit rough in the Finally household. We've been talking about Lovie giving the binky (pacifier) away for months, but since she only is allowed it at home and in bed, we haven't pushed it much. Yesterday morning, however, she woke and wanted to give her binky to a new baby at her school (a baby of one of her favorite teachers). We put it in a jewelry box and everything. She told daddy she was going to do this and held onto that box all the way to school, proudly telling me how she was going to give the binky to [Baby's name] and "she's going to be sooo happy, Mama."

When we got to school, I told Lovie that I would hold onto the binky until after school since the baby wasn't there yet and when I picked her up, we'd give the binky to the baby. She was cool with this. When I picked her up... the teacher and baby had just left. But Daddy and I decided to go through with it and we met at Target where Lovie spent more than one hour looking at all the toys. 

We left the store with a new toy cash register (which is pretty badass I must say) (the new toy is a reward for being a big girl and giving up the binky). When it was time for bed, Lovie wanted her binky (Rut Roh) and grandmabear. We told her she could have her grandmabear to snuggle, of course, but that the binky was gone because she's such a big girl. Our regular routine went out the window, of course. Lovie wanted her binky (and really, I don't blame her- poor thing).

It took about 45 minutes before she finally fell asleep- but it was done so without the binky. This morning, she woke insanely early and I'm sure it's because there was no binky to nom on and go back to sleep. :(  

I know she can sleep without it because she does it all the time at school and in the car... but it still hurts to see her hurt. I mean, she didn't just cry for it, she literally flopped around with arms flailing, back arched. We remained super calm and quiet and assured her she could do this and that we're super proud of her. I held her (as best as I could) and sang softly to her early on in that 45 minutes. She settled down for a couple minutes but then would get super worked up again. Like I said it took about 45 minutes from the time she was put in bed till she fell asleep. We'll see what this weekend brings, eh? It won't bring her a binky but hopefully it will get easier for her...

Bitches

I always loved school. So much so that it doesn't surprise me much that my very first memory involves walking out of preschool.

Some of the things I loved the most about school was school supply time (paper, pens, markers, pencils, rulers, oh my!), the structure and routine of going to school, and the way I always felt kind of special during the school year. Like I had somewhere to go, something to do.

 

Of course there were many a day when I didn’t want to get out of bed or hated a certain class or a teacher, but overall, I was a big time lover of school. I always got giddy the day before the new school year started and always slept like crap that first week from being too excited about it all. And really, I felt all of this through all my schooling- from Kindergarten to getting my Bachelor’s degree.

One thing I never really cared for, one thing I absolutely do not miss about school... the girls. So much so that I preferred to get pummeled by the boys than hang with the girls. Of course I had some schoolmate pals (couldn’t even really call them “friends”) who were girls, but for the most part girls always annoyed the shit out of me. The way they squeal and giggle and huddle together. The way they go to the bathroom together. The way they wear the same brand of clothing and have no mind of their own. Gross. College girls weren’t as annoying to me- at least not in my experience at a commuter art college (had there been sororities and all that bullshit, I’m sure I’d feel differently).

Early on in my school days, girls just kind of annoyed me. They were just too… girly to me. I enjoyed playing with the boys because they actually did shit other than sit around and talk about painting their nails or whatever it is girls do when they all huddle together on the playground.

In the later days of grammar school and all through high school, girls really started to get under my skin. It wasn’t so much about being too girly then as it was about being little fucking bitches. Yeah, think back… I know you know what I mean. Hell, maybe you were one of them! The darting eyes judging  you from your head to your toes. The whispers and giggles as you walked down the hall. The pointing, the laughing in your face and behind your back- but only done in groups of 2 or more, of course.

Blech.

 

It's because of my experience with girls during all of my school days that I never wanted a girl. Never never never.

 

 

 

And wouldn’t you know it? I have the girliest girl of all! And I love every bit of her and her girliness… but girlfriend best watch out if she ever turns into one those snobby ass bitches that judges and laughs at people who may be different than her.

5.) What about school do you miss the least?

WW: Saturday at the park

not really Mama or Lovie related. well maybe a little.

Last year I got a little personal and told the world (all 5 of you that read this) that I was FAT.

I yammered on about how morbidly fat I am, but how I don't let it define me. While this still holds true today, my grasp on not letting it define me is growing weaker and weaker.

I still absolutely refuse to reveal any of these issues to Lovie. (Just yesterday she wanted to go to the park after school but I had to pee badly so we stopped at a Wendy's. And, of course, once she realized we were in a place with burger and fries she wanted a burger and fries. And I got her some. Because she's TWO. Because eating this shit in moderation IS ABSOLUTELY OK! Even if it's fried. Even if it's not organic. She ate 3/4 of the burger and all her fries, downed her water and barely touched her mini Frosty. And when she was done, we went to the park where she ran around for an hour.)

But, I have GOT to make some changes. I cannot allow my size to define me and I feel myself slipping toward that.

I deserve more. SHE deserves more.

I guess this is more Mama and/or Lovie related than I thought.

Anyway, I'm hoping this confession helps me get back to where I was a year ago. Actually, I'm hoping this confession helps me get back to where I was six years ago before my grandfather passed away when I was at the smallest size I'd been in all my adult life.



Pouring my Heart Out and Linking up with Shell at Things I Can't Say.

Bossy

Earlier last week, Lovie had a black eye when I picked her up from school. I mean, it wasn't a BLACK EYE but it was a black eye; it looked like her eye lid and just below her eye was scratched.

I looked for an incident report in her cubbie to no avail. I wanted to ask one of the teachers about it but, as usual, the place was a friggin zoo (she's still in Toddler room which is supposed to be 18 months to 2 but they're always months behind in moving the kids). So I let it go like I often do when I see marks on her (since she's 2 and all). I asked her what happened and she hadn't a clue. Then I asked her if someone scratched her and she told me,"Laney" (fake name) "did it." (This poor girl gets blamed for everything yet she and Lovie are BFFs!) I let it go.

The next day brought a new scratch and this seemed to be the theme for the week. I trimmed her nails two days in a row in case I didn't trim them good enough the first time. Still, another scratch on her face the next day with no incident report.

Finally when I had a chance to ask about it on Thursday, I did. The teacher (main one) said she didn't know of any incidents. And I figured Lovie would've screamed out if someone was bugging her. So we both told her to be sure to tell Miss Jane (fake name) if someone hits or pushes or scratches or bites her, etc. I don't want her to be a tattle tale but every single day is too much.

Friday when I picked Lovie up, she saw me from across the room and ran to me, like normal. Miss Jane was sitting across the room reading to the kids. She got up and came over to the door to where the cubbies are and looked through them and then proceeded to tell me Lovie had a bad day. She was being very bossy and assertive to the other kids- in the morning especially- and an incident report was written against her.

A part of me was surprised; in the 2+ years we've been going there, we've never encountered a problem where Lovie is the problem child. I'M NOT SAYING SHE'S PERFECT just that I was definitely caught off guard. A little. A bigger part of me wanted to shout, "Well good for her!!" I mean, really, the kid is coming home with scratches and a black eye every single day (the scratches- not the black eye) and the day after I bring it up, all of a sudden, she's the problem child?

I didn't say that, of course. I just looked at Lovie and noted no new scratch marks and asked if she was OK. I mean, I couldn't very well punish her hours after the fact... could I? I don't even know what she did other than "be bossy and assertive" to which I say... SOUNDS LIKE SHE'S TWO TO ME!

I kid. Sort of.

On the way home, she wanted to stop off at the park and "play wid my friends." I debated for a second if I should allow it and then went ahead and stopped at the park. For the second day in a row we were the only ones there. Then another girl, near 4, came with her dad and they, too, played in the sandbox. The girls saw each other but kept to themselves until the 4 year old finally picked up her stuff and plopped down next to Lovie, declaring "I want to play with you."

Lovie looked at her and they sat together and did their sand thing for about half hour.

It was super cute. ISN'T IT SUPER DAMN CUTE?!??

I guess she got all her bossy assertiveness out at school before taking it out on me this morning when she shouted, "NO, I DON'T LIKE JEANS!" as I tried getting her dressed.

Can't wait to hear how her day went today. I hope better, I really do. But not as much as I hope they moved her up to the early preschool room where she belongs with the rest of her peers.

******************************

So I typed this all up and never hit Publish because I didn't finish writing it till just before going to pick Lovie up from school; I figured I'd wait to see what transpired. Well... guess who had another black eye when I picked her up today? Her daddy is not very happy. Miss Jane came up to me to tell me about it first hand, and handed me an incident report. This black eye is worse than last week's (that went completely undetected by anyone). And... I'm kind of pissed. I know this stuff happens- these are young children together all day long. But... after one full week of marks and a second black eye... well, how should I feel? 

Hashbrowns

TILTW: 5/12-5/18

Sometimes the easiest recipes are the tastiest. Maybe not the healthiest, but the tastiest nonetheless. I made a Dump Cake on Saturday to bring over to my mom and grandmother's for our Mother's Day celebration. (My 12 year nephew, 5 year old great niece, 22 year old niece, my BIL, mom, grandmother, and husband all *loved* this. You're welcome.) Its recipe was beyond easy:

* 2 cans pie filling (cherry for us)

* 1 package cake mix (yellow or white, I've been told)

* butter to drizzle

* a pan to dump it all in (I picked up a disposable roasting pan from the Dollar Tree for ... $1, and it was the perfect size)

Preheat your oven to 350, dump the pie filling in the pan (absolutely no need to grease the pan first), shake all the cake mix on top of the filling, drizzle melted butter on top (this gives the cake mix some crunch so the more butter you use, the more crunch; I used a whole stick- that was probably too much), bake till the top gets a little brown... till it looks and smells done (about half an hour). Let cool and serve. Does not need to be refrigerated if there's any left.

*********

While I love going to the park when it's dead empty, my Lovie does not. She loves going to "play wif my friends" (even though she doesn't know any of these "friends" half the time) and if we go and there's nobody else there, she'll want to leave within minutes (which is usually fine by me when it's after work).

*********

I absolutely love watching her interact with kids. The other day, a little boy came up to her and she smiled and said, "Hey, you wanna play in da sand wif me?" And they sat down and played together for a while. She's so rad. It was a fear of mine that she would be too much like me (unsocial)- especially since she's an only child. That's why going the daycare center route has been super beneficial; she's really learned how to socialize from the get go and hopefully this will stick with her for life.

*********

I enjoyed feeling "normal" this week and most of last week and am terrified of next week and the week after. Fortunately I have a doctor's appointment set up for the 29th when I should be deep in my insanity before getting my period. Drugs. Let us all pray for drugs to help me get through half of the month.

Little bastard

When I think back 30 years ago to a time when I was in fourth grade at the nearby Catholic grammar school, one image comes immediately to mind: being socked dead center in my stomach by a boy named Eddy George (falsified name to protect the {not-so} innocent).

Eddy and I were friends. All of us in fourth grade were friends. Well, at least I was friends with all the boys. Funny thing is I don't remember one girl from fourth grade. Color me the definition of Tomboy because I had absolutely no interest in playing jump rope, hop scotch, or with Strawberry Shortcake dolls (this is a lie: I did like Strawberry Shortcake dolls but I couldn't let that be known out on the playground during recess!) with the other girls. Instead, I wanted to pee standing up like the boys (even tried to once or twice, failing miserably of course) and since I couldn't do that, I played tag and catch with them during recess instead.

Eddy and I often hung out at the playground at the park after school, too, until one day when he stopped being cool with me. I'm not even sure exactly when it happened or why exactly, but Eddy started being an asshole. And one day, before going into the school as we all gathered on the playground running around screaming our heads off, Eddy and I got in a little tiff.

I think I pushed him and egged him on, "Go on an hit me, you think you're so tough!"

I'm sure he mentioned something about me being a "Gir-url" and I, am sure, scoffed and cussed him out. And then, with his right hand balled up into a fist, he flexed his right arm and guided it back a bit so that he could eject his fist right into my stomach.

Holy hell did I want to vomit.

I also wanted to cry and did everything I could not to cry. But I'm pretty certain I failed just as miserably at that as I did with trying to stand to pee.

I remember clutching onto my stomach as if it was going to fall out of my body. I remember leaning over so much laying on the ground so that I could see the detail in the black concrete below me. I remember loafers and white socks darting all about me. I remember hearing nothing but the bell ringing just after my seventh grade brother asked me if I was OK and whose ass he needed to go kick. And I vaguely remember making my way up the few concrete steps into the school, avoiding eye contact with everyone and telling the nun teacher that I wasn't feeling well when asked what was going on.

Fourth grade was my last year at that school with Eddy; that was the year my parents decided to split so the next year I would be attending public school with a whole bunch of new faces. That was the year my life changed so drastically that I could never really catch up with it all.

Thinking about all of this made me look up Eddy George on The Google. It brought me to a Linkedin profile. According to that profile, dude owns his own law firm. I then found him on Facebook and again, mention of the Law Offices of Mr. Big Shot. There's a picture of him in his profile: dark haired, kinda short and stocky. I know it's him. It looks just like the 40 year old version of the 9 year year old who punched me in the gut.

Little bastard.

A part of me wants to send him a Facebook message to see if he'd remember me. But what do I say? "Hey! Are you the Eddy George who socked a girl in the gut in 4th grade at [XYZ School] in 1981?"

Ah the good old days.

1.) Share a story from fourth grade. (inspired by Wild Life in the Woods).

Immeasurable

It’s important to me that she has good memories. Of her childhood, of her family, of life.

It’s my job to ensure that this happens.

It’s just how I feel.

The love I hold for this child… the extent for which I would go to ensure her happiness …  is absolutely immeasurable.

I don’t think I’m saying anything new here.

It’s important to me that she have photos and/or videos of her life to help jog her memory or help show her the way things were at every stage in her life. Pictures of eating solids for the first time. Pictures of park visits. Pictures of her staring at the TV. Pictures of her playing with her toys. Pictures of her with family…

It’s important to me that she has pictures of us- Mama and Daughter.

I’m not in a happy place right now with my weight. I’m the heaviest I’ve been ever (yes, I’m heavier than I was when I was 9 months pregnant). Yet, I can’t seem to stop piling the shit food into my mouth. Those pictures she won’t ever see- not on film, not in memory. I will ensure this to always be. But, I still NEED her to have photos of us together. From every stage of her life during my life. Tomorrow is not guaranteed and if I leave this life without ensuring that she has good memories, that she has photos of the everyday and her family… I will have absolutely failed her.

So when we played at the park on Mother’s Day, and I watched my girl shine brighter than the sun that was absolutely relentless that day, my heart nearly exploded when my husband showed me a photo he snapped on his new cell phone of the two of us.

The love I hold for this child is absolutely immeasurable. I can write it down all I want, but now I finally have a(nother) photo to back up my words. A photo so beautiful it moved me to tears.

Get in the photo with your child(ren). YOU MUST DO THIS. TODAY.

Mother's Day-isticle, the Listicle

one:

Lovie slept in late. Of course. The one day I demand I not get up with her, she sleeps in later than ever (8:30am!).

two:

The hubs brought me coffee in bed whilst Lovie and I watched TV in bed as he destroyed the kitchen made breakfast.

three:

I washed clothes (my own).

four:

Lovie took a 2 hour nap and I watched an entire Lifetime movie (can't even recall the last time that happened- before Lovie was born, I believe).

five:

Lovie woke hungry so I made her a peanut butter & jelly sandwich and sliced an apple while the hubs conveniently washed his car.

six:

We went to the park.

apparently the secret to getting a decent photo with your two year old is to contain them in a swing or as they eat

seven:

We laughed and played and my most favorite Mommy and Me photos were magically captured.

eight:

We visited the in-laws.

nine:

We came home just in time for Lovie's bedtime and she... went to bed without a fight.

ten:

We ordered Giordano's stuffed pizza and pigged out. YUM.

May: then and now

from May 2011- after taking my then 19 year old nephew out for his birthday:

from (last weekend) May 2012- at home celebrating my nephew turning 20:

i should've had her jump again- what was i thinking??

TILTW: 5/5-5/11

* I'm a bit nervous but also relieved: I made an appointment with my gynie in two weeks for my incredibly difficult-to-deal-with moods the two weeks before my period plus my incredibly heavy-for-two-days period when I finally get it. It's funny because when I first started getting my period after Lovie's birth, it always came as a surprise- my PMS was gone, it seemed, and cramps and stuff seemed to subside as well. The past 6 months, though?? It's like my body knows I'm turning 40 this year and is revolting against me. Or something. I dunno. I just am terrified of that period before my period. I detest the person I become. So hopefully the good doc will be able to shed some light or drugs to better help me cope. I absolutely do not want Lovie to have memories of her Mama freaking the F out on her because she was being 2.

* Bedtimes with Lovie have been... beautiful. Yes, beautiful since really following the suggestions provided in 1-2-3 Magic. It really and truly is Magical.

* I struggled with writing My Mama this week. I knew I wanted to write it; I've known for a long time I wanted to write it. And I figured Mother's Day week was a great time to do so... yet I still struggled. The thing is that I write for me. Because I need to. Writing has been a lifesaver for me. Literally. When it comes to writing publicly however, I have to become aware of my audience- be it one or one hundred readers. I don't want someone reading to be hurt by my words; it's OK for someone not to agree with me, but I just don't want to hurt someone. You know? Plus, I also wonder about what would happen if the person I might be writing about would stumble across the piece some day. Again, I don't want to hurt anyone, but I also need to be honest. For me.  Anyway, I'm glad I wrote My Mama, I'm glad I shared it with the amazing Yeah Write community, and I'm oh so ever grateful for all the comments that felt like hugs. So I guess, what I'm trying to say is Thank You.

* I've come to the realization that, when bringing Lovie to the park/playground, I prefer the Helicopter parents (ones that hover over their child's every move) over the Glued-to-the-Phone ones (who don't give a shit what their kid is doing as long as they can Facebook email Tweet read text blog, etc). But I absolutely detest the I'm-Boss-of-You-and-Everyone-Will-Know-It parents (who scream at their kids every friggin "wrong" move). Also, I'm beginning to wonder if my disdain for people started at a very young age because man, do all kinds of people show up at the park (in the city at least) and man, do most annoy the shit out of me.

Happy Weekend and

Happy Mother's Day to each and every one

of you moms or love-like-mom moms.

Not-So-WW: the Twist and Shout

Lovie's hair is naturally curly thanks to my natural curl (which didn't surface till puberty hit and then HOLYCRAPCURL happened) and thanks to her daddy's afro ways. I know (from years of crying over dealing with my hair) a few things about dealing with hair like hers because it's how I had to start dealing with my own hair:

1. Limit hair washing to once or twice a week.
2. NEVER comb/brush while dry.
3. ALWAYS and ONLY ever comb with a wide tooth comb whilst hair is wet with gobs of conditioner.
4. Always use a leave in conditioner.
5. Try not to ever touch hair once it's "styled".

So this is how I manage Lovie's mop. It works out well because only washing it once or twice a week and not combing it when dry saves us lots of time in the morning. I get her up, spritz her hair with some frizz free tangle tamer product, scrunch a bit, and go. And since I always am answered with "No!" (her favorite word) when I ask if I can put her hair up, it's even easier.

Well, Monday, the day after we washed her hair, she came home with sand in her hair. UGH. Sand. In her hair. In her mop of curls. Tight curls.

DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO GET ITTY BITTY PIECES OF SAND FROM THE SCALP OF A CHILD WHOSE HAIR NATURALLY NESTS ANY AND EVERY LITTLE THING IMAGINABLE BECAUSE THE CURLS JUST TRAP IT ALL THERE?!?

Very hard. Very, very, very hard.

I now hate sand more than I hate glitter. And glitter, prior to this new encounter with sand, used to be referenced as the Devil.

Anyway, after about an hour of running water through her hair while she screamed and cried, "No mama!! NO MAMA!!!!!" (while I flashed back to the movie Mommy Dearest: "No more wire hangers Sand!!"), after washing and scrubbing and rinsing and fluffing and rinsing some more, I finally got her out of the tub and, while she was glued to the TV, twisted her hair for the first time.

WHY HAVEN'T I DONE THIS SOONER?

Oh, because she hates having her hair/head touched.

So yeah, I twisted little sections of hair, while wet (though next time I need to make sure each section is really wet because by the time I got to the back, it just didn't look as good as the front ones), sent her to bed, and the next day I threw the twists, still in tact (holla!), up in a ponytail. Super cute.

Then last night, before bed, I let the ponytail down and she (her hair) became all Coolio on me,

and for my amusement, I didn't untwist and sent her to bed. 

Then this morning, I untwisted, spritzed, and off we went.

I still think sand is very evil. Even if it did lead me to finally twisting her hair.

my Mama

My friends hug me as the teachers wave good-bye. Everyone is smiling. The lights are yellow and there’s lots of bright primary colors all around. I tilt my head back to look up and see my pretty Mama smiling down on me- her dark short, curly hair; her thick red lips; her big pointy boobs. She’s holding my hand. We walk out of the big red door, out of my preschool. We exit the building and turn the corner and walk home, hand in hand.

 

*************

When I ask my mom about this memory flash in present day, and ask if she walked me to and from preschool or if we took a car, she says she doesn’t remember. That we probably walked.

She doesn’t remember a lot about when I was a kid. It used to upset me when I would ask about something- anything- and she would say, “I don’t remember.” How could my own mother not remember milestones from my life? I’m her baby.

But then I think about the person she was during the memories that I have that aren’t just flashes… You know, the tattooed memories. And I think that she doesn’t remember because she drank the memories away.

I wish I had the guts to ask her when it started- her love of alcohol, her love of partying. Is it why she wanted to divorce my father when I was 9? I’m pretty certain it’s why she was a shitty mother, at least it’s the reason I tell myself to keep civil with her today.

But we don’t talk about it.

We don’t talk about the shitty times. We don’t talk about living without electricity at times, while having to heat water up on the stove to take a bath during other times. We don’t talk about drinking milk composed of powder and water. We don’t talk about moving from shitty apartment to shitty apartment. We don’t talk about how she made me fend for myself at an incredibly young age. We don’t talk about how she made me go to four different high schools. We don’t talk about how she was never there for me. We don’t talk about the number of times she was passed out in front of the TV with a cigarette butt still trapped between her fingers and a trail of ashes that was once tobacco and paper leading to the overflowing ashtray on the arm of the floral loveseat. We don’t talk about how I never had any friends. We don’t talk about the times she took me to bars with her when I was a teenager. We don’t talk about the multiple men she brought into her home, into her bed. We don’t talk about the retched smell from alcohol, sex, vomit, what-have-you that filled the air of our home more than not.  We don’t talk about the lack of care she had for anything or anyone other than alcohol and sex.

We don’t talk about it.

I mean, really, what’s the point? Why dredge it all up? What can possibly happen by bringing it all up?!

Besides, I haven’t a clue if she’d even remember half the shit that I remember from those days. I’m guessing not. I’m guessing she’d still be drinking herself into oblivion every night if she did remember; I don’t think anyone strives to be a shitty drunk of a mom one day.

Fortunately she finally grew up around the turn of the century. She still drank but nothing at all like what she was doing when I was growing up, when *I* was supposed to be the teenager instead of the mom. And today, she doesn’t really drink much at all. Thankfully.

I wish I had the guts to ask her about that too- why she finally stopped drinking. But I guess if I did, then all the other stuff would come up. And… I just don’t really want to go there.

Instead, I try to focus on the good: She’s been a great fan of my marriage, she’s madly in love with my Lovie, she’s there for my ailing grandmother.

She’s not perfect. She still has her moments when I want to shake the stupid teenage mindset out of her and remind her that she’s going to be 65 this year. She still relies far too much on others to lift her up- emotionally, financially. But at least she doesn’t repulse me the way she did when I was younger, when I had very little respect for her, when she showed me things at a young age that one shouldn’t see.

I mean, I still don’t respect her much as a Mother and I still get sickened by some of my memories, but she doesn’t repulse me anymore. She’s a human being. With flaws. Like anyone else. She was a super shitty mother in my eyes, but … I can also take that and turn it around and ensure that I’m nothing like that. I can take those shitty times and strive for more, so much more- for my Lovie.

I don’t think my mom didn’t love me, I’m certain she did. I just don’t think she loved being a Mom. And that… sucks ass when you’re the kid.

Fortunately Lovie won’t ever know that Mom. Fortunately Lovie won’t have any memories like mine.

I guess I have my mom to thank for that- and that’s why we don’t talk about the past. Because while it wasn’t the greatest, we’re both still here today. And now there’s Lovie, too. And if it meant re-living that life with that shitty mom 100 times, I’d do it just to be where I am today with my Lovie.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mama.

I never could give you a sappy card on Mother’s Day because I just never felt that way. But we both made it through so thank you for that. I do love you and I am glad you’re in my life.

RAGE

I'm getting kind of scared now.

I still feel like I did  a week ago. Maybe even worse.

I feel like I have so very little control left of my sanity. I feel so full of ... rage. And for no fucking reason. None whatsoever. But still, I feel like this rage is eating me up. I feel like it's on the verge of exploding out of me and onto others.

I feel angry. Angry and sad. And so motherfucking tired.

I sincerely feel like I'm losing my grip on the reality I used to know. And it's so confusing.

I attribute this all to PMS but I really can't recall the last time I've had PMS this fucking bad.

I'm near tears at all times. But more than that, I'm near exploding. VIOLENTLY exploding.

Every and any little motherfucking thing pisses me off.

I've snapped so much this weekend despite trying to not open my mouth.

I don't like feeling like this and no matter what I do, nothing seems to help. Not even a little bit.

These feelings are completely consuming me and I'm scared that I may finally just lose my shit.

Jesus Christ somethings gotta give.

Do I go to a gynecologist? A psychologist? What the fuck do I do with all this motherfucking anger inside of me??

(And no, I still don't have my motherfucking period and hell no is there a chance that I could be pregnant.)

TILTW: 4/29-5/4

* Curdled vomit is enough to make me want to vomit. My poor sweet girl has puked three times since yesterday after school (she puked on the way home from school). I thought she was OK so I brought her into school but they called my 10 minutes after I got to work, telling me she puked over her clothes and had a low grade fever. On the way home, she puked again- all over herself, the car seat, the back of the car (she's still rear facing). I'm not sure how I didn't cry or vomit myself. She's in great spirits- eats, drinks (Pedialite), goofs around. Hopefully this will pass soon.

* This girl is truly a girly girl. As if her love of pink, her love of babies (live) and baby dolls (toys), and her love of Princess shit wasn't enough, she really sent the message home last Saturday when she insisted she marvel over the pretty dresses in the window. We should really get a better handle on our finances now while we have the chance.

* I really really really really really really hate hot, sticky weather. Especially when I'm PMSing. It's going to be a long mofo spring and summer. I mean, we've hit the 80s so much this year and it's barely May! Gag.

Three months from today

I'll be in the air, anxiously awaiting my arrival...

to PARADISE.

For three nights, my BFF/cousin and I will be staying at a very highly rated resort in a beachfront room with this kind of view (am very much hoping we can upgrade to a room with immediate beach access, too).

Our room should look something like this.

We're going with no other plans than

to do as little as possible.

We're not renting a car, we're not doing any shopping, we're not visiting any fancy restaurants, we're not going to any clubs, we're not going to any shows.

We're meeting at the airport and cabbing it to the resort where we'll spend three nights and (almost) four days doing... nothing.

Three months from today. Oh dear I can't wait.

Our 40th year is going to be damn good... damn good.

Do you believe in Magic?

I do.

Especially if it’s 1-2-3 Magic- the book about “Effective Discipline for Children 2-12.”

*To be crystal clear- these are my own words, my own thoughts. I’m in no way, shape, or form affiliated with the writer of, nor the actual book or publishing company, etc of 1-2-3 Magic. They don’t know me. They don’t know I’m writing this. They didn’t give me the book to review. They don’t know me from Adam. I’m nobody to them.*

I have a 2 year old (end of December). At her 18 month checkup, her pediatrician suggested we pick up 1-2-3 Magic for an approach to disciplining our Lovie. She’s always been pretty much ahead of the game with all of her milestones and he said we could start implementing some of the ideas from the book if we felt we needed to, despite the age stated.

We didn’t get the book right away but we didn’t really need to; Lovie’s always been a pretty easy baby. Or else we’re extremely patient? If you know me at all, it’s not that I’m patient.

After getting the book when she was about 20 months old, I read it pretty quickly. It’s not long and it’s a quick read. I love all the examples provided and I love that there is reasoning as to why something might or might not be working.

Still, we didn’t really have any use to put it into practice. So the book sat and Lovie turned two. And, just like that, she was starting to test us more. But still, she listened to what we were saying and, since we were both always on the same page and very consistent, we never had to really put her into a time out or discipline her more than stating that something was dangerous. Yes, really. She’s that good of a kid. Yes, I know how crazy lucky we got it. Thanks, though.

But then bedtime would roll around and … by the time we’d leave her room, I was exhausted.

I began to dread putting her to bed. It usually wasn’t too bad if it was just me putting her to bed because I didn’t stand for (all) the stalling she did, but regardless, it got to the point where I would just walk out of the room quickly after saying my good nights and I love yous, and she’d be left screaming and jumping up and down and crying out for me. And the nights Daddy was there in time for bedtime, he would stay in the room to settle her down but usually, an hour later, she’d call out for one of us or shriek with glee as she continued to practice her jumping. (There were several times where I actually went to bed and fell asleep before her. And I have to get her up at 5:30 in the morning during the week so her lack of getting a good night’s sleep was causing major havoc in our morning routine, too.)

I was spent. And I started dreading… dreading… bedtime.

I’m not sure what it was- maybe out of sheer desperation- but I decided to pick up 1-2-3 Magic again one day, remembering that the author touched on bedtime. I quickly skimmed over to the bedtime routine and read the section, “Going to Bed- And Staying There!” several times.

I tagged the pages I wanted the husband to read and told him we would be taking the plunge that night and to just follow my lead.

We were all sitting on the couch watching Nick Jr. and it was nearing 7PM- Lovie’s bedtime Sunday through Thursday. The show Olivia was on and I told Lovie that when it was over, it would be time to brush her teeth- something I tell her every night.  I also sounded the alarm on my cell phone. Lovie looked at me like WTF? And I told her that the next time she heard that Beeping sound, it would mean that we had to stop whatever we were doing and go to bed.

When the show was over, I turned off the TV. Lovie started with the usual whining and begging for another Olivia and refusing to brush her teeth. I explained again that Olivia was over, that we’d watch again tomorrow, and that it was now time to brush her teeth and get ready for bed. She started playing with some cars or something. We kept repeating it was time to start getting ready for bed and eventually got her into the bathroom to  finally brushed her teeth.

Then we went into her room and, like normal, Daddy sat on the floor near her two large stuffed bears, I sat on the chair next to her bed. Lovie started opening books or something. I sounded the alarm again and reminded her that the next time she heard it, it meant it was time for bed. I told her we could read, sing, play, drink water, go to the bathroom until the Beep Beep Beep but once it sounded, she had to go to bed.

She just looked at me. Daddy just looked at me.

“Do you want to read a book?”

“No!”

“Do you want me to sing?”

No answer. So I started to sing (thankfully- I love singing bedtime songs normally with her in my arms but I didn’t want to push the issue).

Lovie played with some blocks and kind of ignored her dad and me. I reminded her again that when the Beeping sounded it was bedtime, and asked if she was sure she didn’t want daddy to read a book. She got a book and brought it to her dad to read.

A minute after they read, the alarm sounded. It was 7:15PM.

We all jumped a little. I really should put a clock in her room.

Lovie and Daddy looked at me. I grabbed my cell phone from the bookshelf and stood up and looked at my husband and, with my eyes and mind, told him to stand up, too. He obliged.

I scooped up Lovie and gave her a million kisses and told her it was bedtime. She turned into a floppy, out-of-water fish. Daddy snuck in a couple kisses and I laid her in her crib. (Yes, she's still in a crib. There's more info in the book about if your child is in a regular bed and gets up out of bed- info that we will most definitely practice should Lovie do this once she moves out of the crib.)

She immediately stood up and asked for water and I, laying her back down, told her she could have more in the morning and reminded her the Beeping sounded and it was now bedtime.

“Sweet dreams, baby girl. I love you. Night Night,” I said with my hand on her belly gently.

I then … walked out of the room and into the living room to look at the clock on the cable box. It was 7:17.

I turned back around and saw my husband standing beside me. We just looked at each other, saying nothing.

“Really?” I finally said. “It’s that easy?”

Husband looked at me, shrugged his shoulders, and went on his computer. I stood there for another couple minutes and listened. I heard nothing coming from down the hall where Lovie’s room is. Nothing.  I went back to the husband and said, “Why haven’t we done this sooner?”

Again, he just shrugged.

Since that very first night, it’s been the same thing (I extend the alarm a half hour on weekends) every single night. Except, after a full week of doing this, the whole routine started going even smoother because once she became used to the alarm, she started wanting to sit with us before it sounds as we read and sing (which for us is so ... blissful, really). She doesn't flop around when I scoop her up for hugs and kisses before laying her down; there's no more jumping in the bed; there's no more shouting out for us once we leave the room.

This shit is MAGICAL.

A month ago, it would take HOURS before she’d fall asleep.

A month ago, I’d leave her room wanting to scream and pull my hair out.

Bedtime has been dreadful this year (literally- it’s like a switch went off in her in January)- up till I studied the Bedtime section of the 1-2-3 Magic book a couple weeks ago.

And now... It’s Magical. Bedtime is magical! It’s enjoyable. It’s relaxing. It’s the way it should be.

* To be crystal clear- these are my own words, my own thoughts. I’m in no way, shape, or form affiliated with the writer of, nor the actual book or publishing company, etc of 1-2-3 Magic. They don’t know me. They don’t know I’m writing this. They didn’t give me the book to review. They don’t know me from Adam. I’m nobody to them.*