Saturday, April 29, 2006


at this very moment, deep within Portland’s old port, are a handful of my very dear and very 30 year old friends. They are most likely involving themselves in matters of alcoholic frivolity and uproarious recollections. How I wish our moons were aligned and I could be in their company. But there’s always 31, right? Party on Wayne. Party on Garth.

Friday, April 28, 2006

Ix-nay on the eaning-way.

Or at least rapid weaning. Papoose ain’t havin’ that. I did manage to successfully remove one daytime feeding yesterday and I’ll just have to accept this very slow approach. Thank you to KellyMom for the reassuring information. Funny how the best laid plans can go kaput when applied to real life. No complaints, however, because he snoozed in three hour intervals last night and how peaceful that was for all of us. I appreciate that my readers may find my adventures in weaning enormously dull and for that I apologize. Just trying to work it through.

Now for something completely different and stolen (again). Thanks to my Lemony love.

Find an iPod...a mini, a nano, a shuffle, or use your Rhapsody or whatever thing it is that you use to play music and set it to shuffle/random. Answer the following questions with the randomly selected songs.

Will I get far in Life?

Feel Good Inc. - Gorillaz

How do my friends see me?
Melissa (Live) - The Allman Brothers Band

Where will I get married?
Cry Me A River – Justin Timberlake

What is my best friend’s theme song?
Stupid Girls - Pink
(none of my best friends are actually stupid, that's just what we say about all the other dumb girls, d'uh)

What is the story of my life?
Sister Golden Hair - America

What was high school like?
You & Me - Lifehouse

How can I get ahead in life?
Don't Phunk With My Heart – Black Eyed Peas

What is the best thing about me?
Not Ready to Make Nice – Dixie Chicks

How is today going to be?
Evening Train – Van Morrison

What is in store for this weekend?
Right Here - Staind

What song describes my parents?
Army of Me - Bjork
(and iiiif you complain once more, you'll meet an army of me)

My grandparents?
When I'm With You - Sheriff

How is my life going?
Digital Love – Daft Punk

What song will they play at my funeral?
The Freshmen - Verve Pipe
(that’s a bit ookie)

How does the world see me?
Dance Dance – Fall Out Boy

Will I have a happy life?
AM Radio - Everclear

What do my friends really think of me?
Do You Really Want To Hurt Me? - Culture Club

Do people secretly lust after me?
One Angry Dwarf and 2oo Solemn Faces – Ben Folds Five

How can I make myself happy?
Tourniquet - Evanescence

What should I do with my life?
Bodyrock - Moby

Will I ever have children?
Oh Very Young – Cat Stevens
(how fitting!)

What is some good advice?
Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go - Wham!
(in certain situations, this is very good advice!)

What is my signature dancing song?
Could You Be Loved – Bob Marley

What do I think my current theme song is?
What Can I Do? - The Corrs

What does everyone else think my current theme song is?
Black Magic Woman -- Santana

What type of men/women do you like?
Bell Bottom Blues - Clapton

Thursday, April 27, 2006

Is that a bottle up your shirt?

Or are you just happy to see me? The almost unbearable process of weaning is underway. And yes, I’m leading the way. How very selfish of me to bring forth life but take away his source of comfort before he is willing. Scold me. I.Need.Sleep. Not in the customary “I’m very tired today” sort of way. It’s more of a nauseatingly raw sort of relentless exhaustion. If anything, this almost 13 month old is reverse cycling and my increasing supply has augmented my chest to a very unmanageable mass. I am satisfied to have met my original goal of one year and yet I’m still struggling to liberate myself from the guilt of wanting to wean him. I weaned the Girl at four months because my desire to lose the maternal fat stores was uncontrollable and a baby who woke every few hours to nurse just wasn’t in the plans. And although I’m a more settled and capable mother these seven years later, this baby still tests the limits of my strength and patience. How he has distorted my predetermined beliefs about the sleeping patterns of babies! One may enter into parenthood with the sureness of a quickly established and harmonious routine only to be jolted into the reality of a high-needs infant. The unanticipated adventure of rearing this human regularly bowls me over. I worship him with complete devotion and having him as my child is a miraculous journey, but that doesn’t lessen my physical need for sleep.

Back to the bottle.

He’s well aware that the bottle I’m cloaking beneath the cover of my shirt is, indeed, not a breast. His heated objections and energetic attempts at pummeling my chest into submission make his opinion very clear. As he eyeballs that bottle of warm cow’s milk with outright disgust, I transiently tamper with my commitment. Should I offer him one more month? Should I hang it up and let him lead the way? In that moment the sleep fairy alights on my shoulder and delicately reminds me of how patient I am when I’m well rested. She also whispers the names of the two other small people who rely on my attentiveness. And so I snuggle his round cheek against the skin of my chest and offer him the warm bottle one more time.

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

I am also feeling quite unoriginal today.

And so I have also taken this very cool idea from Zama, who lifted it from Lemony, who pinched it from Omega Babe.

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open it to page 161.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence along with these instructions.
5. Don't search around and look for the coolest book you can find. Use the book next to you.

“Lying around Bree-hill and the villages was a small country of fields and tamed woodland only a few miles broad.” taken from J.R.R. Tolkien’s
The Lord of The Rings

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Blending the holidays

is something we’ve come to accept as normal in this “his, hers 'n ours bathroom towel set” of a family. My Girl spends April vacation with her biological father and my Boy wonders why his biological mother hasn’t called. It isn’t my intent to disparage either of the other parents and the relationships they share with their children. Some things in life just are what they are. You make the best with what you have. As it happens, missing pieces know exactly where to land to complete part of the puzzle. My head is weary from the constant competition and a calm undisturbed nap is the one thing I’m after. And I silently wonder am I really the best person for this job? Honestly? Does the word step make this job more complicated or is the process of blending four partially unrelated people together just as awkward as blending together four completely related people? You tell me. On Wednesday I’ve got my shit together, good groove going on, keeping the balance, dinner prepared, and house in order. But come Saturday…..I feel the game begin again. It could be suitably titled “The Mad Chaotic Competition for Mama’s Attention.” One for you and one for you. I love you the same. You did a good job and you did a good job. One familiar voice of my Girl and one guarded but loving voice from my Boy. (I call him mine because in most senses, he is.) I feel pulled in two separate directions and I question myself; do biologically related siblings do this too? Please tell me. Come Saturday I’m doubting my abilities again. Do I have it in me? It being equally abundant love for my babies and for the boy who has never been my baby. Most days I think it is in me. I just needs more time and energy.

My Girl is gone for a week and only after years of throbbing good-byes and restless nights am I able to wait for her return without endless tears and unyielding anxiety. After she arrives safely in his care, I blow kisses through the telephone and simply wait. Wait for the time to pass. Wait for her return to my embrace. The Boy knows I’m waiting and pines for a mother to love him in such a terribly devoted way. I love him the only way I can and she loves him the only way she can. And we blend.

My Girl attends the father-daughter dance with her step-father and spends the summer swimming and petting the zoo animals with her biological father. And we blend. My Boy shares ice cream dates and after dinner walks with me and will spend the summer drinking in the essence of the mother he rarely sees but so desperately wants to be familiar with. And we blend.

After a few years of pressing mix/combine/finely chop/puree on the family blender, we’ve created a most tasty drink made from the most passionately fruity of people. Sometimes we add a pinch of sugar. Sometimes it calls for lemon. Some days it doesn’t taste so good and some days we just can’t drink enough of it. But we keep on blending.

The Great Decider decides

to whip out his giant penis and throw some smackdown on Don Rumsfeld’s critics. "I listen to all voices, but mine is the final decision.” Snort. What the small frustrated idiot really means is “I don’t give a flying fuck what you say, I’ll do whatever the fuck I want. And if I don’t get my way then I’ll shove a scud missile up your Yankee ass.”

Seriously (expletive deleted), go back to Texas and brand some cows. I’m going to get so drunk on the night of your impeachment, no really I am. I’m letting my armpit hair grow just for the occasion. Then I’m going to exchange my Sheer Obsession for patchouli, invite all my gay friends over, grill meatless burgers, and sing "The Rainbow Connection" at the top of my lungs as I attempt drunken headstands on my front lawn. Bra-less.

Have you been half asleep?
And have you heard voices?
I've heard them calling my name....
Is this the sweet sound that calls the young sailors?
The voice might be one and the same.
I've heard it too many times to ignore it.
It's something that I'm s'posed to be...
Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection.
The lovers, the dreamers, and me.

Laa, da daa dee da daa daa,
La laa la la laa dee daa doo...

Monday, April 10, 2006

I've been slightly pissed off at God.

I think. Since my self-imposed departure from Catholicism nearly twelve years ago, I feel an element of my spirituality has also departed. Since then I’ve longed to be a part of something so insightful, so perceptive of the life beyond. A path of knowing that would console the hesitant inner child who whispers to me as I sleep. A direction of awareness and faith that would give me strength to, once again, believe. I want this inner harmony not only for myself but for the small people who turn to me with questions. Questions to which I haven’t yet found answers.

Who is Jesus? Where is hell? What does God look like? Is Heaven real? Will you be with me if I go there? Will I look like this when I’m in Heaven? Why do we have to die?


As I spent the last few years exploring such miraculous and peaceful religions like Buddhism, Wicca, Taoism, and Native American traditional beliefs, I’ve found diverse yet comforting ideals that I’ve shared with my small ones. I’ve come to appreciate not one single belief, rather an assembly of diverse philosophies that support one unswerving approach: Do unto your neighbor and your Earth as you would have done unto you. It really is almost that simple. Let your heart bleed with charity with no expectations in return. Live green with the confidence that it does matter. Be tolerant and live peacefully.

At times, this is easier said than done because we are selfish creatures. But we have the capacity to love, and due to my recent experiences with the overly demanding and exasperating Papoose, I know love triumphs over self-interest. My particular self-interest being sleep, sleep, and did I mention? Sleep.

My mind has been weaving these thoughts into the most delicate of quilts. I want to wrap my children in this warmth and soothe their fears, satisfy their curiosity of the beyond, and give them something to consider. I don’t have all the answers but I do have a newly found sense of spirituality thanks due to my local Unitarian Universalist Church. I mustered the courage to dress the small ones in what I considered to be their Sunday best, loaded them into the minivan, and drove them to church.

Apprehensive? Yes. Skeptical? Yes. Were these doubts unfounded? Much to my gladness, yes.

Boy: Can we go again next week?

Me: Yes, we can go again.

Girl: Did you see my blue egg? Miss Terri told me what Easter was about.

Me: Yes, your egg is pretty! And I’m glad you learned about Easter.

I’m learning its okay to not know what you believe. I'm learning that just being spiritual is as profound as being Christian..I’m learning that not all places of Christian worship are fundamental or reinforce unnecessary guilt. And I'm learning to let go of my anger towards God.

Saturday, April 08, 2006

Why, yes, yes it was my birthday.

It came. It went.

I have successfully navigated my way out of my 20’s and into my 30’s. The past ten years have often been chaotic and turbulent. And I wonder how I muddled my way through a tempest of self-discovery crammed with such confusion and blunders. I’ve made my fair share of sound choices and foolish mistakes, and unfortunately I’m inclined to think the latter trumped the former in the earlier part of the decade. Were it not for the love of my steadfast parents, I may not have been able to pull my head from out of the depths of my ass so thoroughly. The evolution from an immature narcissist to a stable and accountable adult wasn’t something I fought against, just something I didn’t realize was possible. Single parenthood just was. Objectives that required more than minimal effort weren’t worth my time. As long as the furtive abuse of my body remained unnoticed, it could continue. And as long as I maintained just enough marbles to get us to tomorrow, it could continue. Thinking beyond tomorrow just didn’t happen.

I wish I had made better financial decisions. I wish I had completed college when I had earlier chances. I wish I hadn’t lowered my expectations by surrounding myself with people who denied me love and respect. But wishing doesn’t change the present, nor does it amend the past. It can only arm me with the good sense to not duplicate my mistakes. I’ve heard that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over but expecting different results. I’m not insane.

I’ve been ridiculously brooding and pouting about the number of years I’ve been on this earth. 30. April 7th had been looming in my mind and causing me pointless stress because there was no dodging or sidestepping it. It was as if I was trapped in Helm’s Deep, waiting for the pounding drums to bring forth an approaching army of Orcs, having only a single iron sword and shield with which to defend myself. The army came, breached my deepening wall and washed over me like wine. Then I blew out the candles, opened my birthday cards, and went out for Italian with the Husband.

So now I’m 30 years old.

And I’m still the same woman I was at 29. Except I rock just a little bit more. I’m less apt to repeat stupid mistakes and more inclined to realize my potential. My step-mother called me to wish me a Happy Birthday and unlike most other callers who razzed me about turning 30, she said “you think 30 is cool, just wait until 40, it only gets better.” I believe her. I believe we grow more beautiful in manners than have little to do with the body. I want to be beautiful like that. I want graceful maturity. I want sublime sophistication. I want to be divine. Shit. How’s that for corny?

Not to mention what a cash-cow a birthday can be! I’m going shopppppping…..

Oh, and the Papoose? The drooling monkey turned one today. What a wicked day for chocolate frosting, mini pizzas, balloons, a couple temper tantrums, and a slobbery kiss.

Friday, April 07, 2006

"I'm not your favorite guy"

These were Bush’s oh-so insightful words in response to Harry Taylor's courageous and forthright remarks. Brava Bush. You’re certainly a bright bulb shining such acute perception onto a crowd of dutiful bush-bots, aren’t you? “I’m not your favorite guy.” I’m in no position to interpret Mr. Taylor’s feelings, but I’m fairly confident he wasn’t simply telling you he doesn’t like you. That goes without saying Mr. President. No, we don’t like you, but that doesn’t mean we can’t like how you lead. I can still choose to dislike you but find strength in your leadership. Unfortunately, you’ve made that possibility hopeless. You’re not only unlikable, but you’re an unyielding bully who will stop at nothing to steal my lunch money. You sneer at opposition, you press repeat-play on your cassette recorder of well rehearsed rhetoric, you dampen our spirits with your terror mongering tirade, and you LIE. You are no leader, not now, not ever.

I’d like to personally welcome my regular reader from Washington, D.C. I’m delighted that you frequently find my blog so click-worthy. I’m feeling so warm and fuzzy, I just might bust out in song!

Every breath you take

And every move you make
Every bond you break, every step you take
The Patriot Act and I will be watching you….

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Turns out, they’re quite useful.

My smallish people that is. As I was unthinkingly going through my morning habit of straightening my hair, I looked into my three-way mirror and caught a quick glimpse of what appeared to be a gray hair sprouting from the back of my head. Normally I find the little bastards towards the front, more favorably placed where I can promptly pluck them. Not this one. I used tweezers and fingernails but was unable to grasp it. I tried persuading the maverick strand to lie still under the more fetching brown hairs, but it persistently reappeared. I found myself unable to continue my beautification until the mutineer was removed. I called to the Boy, who usually likes to “help” me apply makeup or “style” my hair. This usually involves every bobby pin I own, copious amounts of pink blush, and spray bottle of water. But I digress.

Me: Honey, do you see that white shiny hair in the back of Mama’s head?

Boy: I think so.

Me: Could you pull it out for me?

Boy: Just that one?

Me: Yes, try not to pull out my good hairs, I need those.

He proceeds to unsuccessfully pull out the one gray hair. He does, much to my displeasure, manage to yank out 40 good brown hairs, give or take a few. He beckons to the Girl, who was curiously watching from the doorway, to lend him a hand. As my scalp continued to be prodded and marred by 20 small fingers, I began to wonder if I should just let the gray hair be. Of course it was during this thought that the Boy yelled “got it!” Great, I think to myself, thank you, I really appreciate your help. Now would you mind bringing me the dust-buster? I have to clean up this mocking heap of brown that formerly existed on top of my head. As a slight headache starts to creep from the back of my skull, I just smile.