May 15, 2012

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.



May 14, 2012

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 12, 2012

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??

May 11, 2012

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.

May 9, 2012

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.

May 8, 2012

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.


May 7, 2012

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.)

May 4, 2012

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.

May 3, 2012

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.*