To Be A Man October 22, 2009

I have to spin this week’s assignment from Liz at Lizdom even more than last week’s.

 

What it means to be a man – As I have NO idea, what it means to be an actual man, and I don’t believe any man I know would spend time trying to articulate his “true” feelings about it to me, I am going to write….

 

 

“The Top Ten Reasons Why I Am The ‘Man’ In This Relationship”.

 

10. I. Do. Not. Cook.

9. I do not do dishes, either.

8. I believe all cleaning that occurs, occurs magically.

7. I do not write checks/ pay bills. That also occurs magically.

6. In the evenings, after the kid’s in bed, I do little else but watch TV and drink (and work on my laptop).

5. I really, really, REALLY don’t like to talk before/during/after sex.

4. Nor do I like to cuddle before/during/after sex.

3. I really think it’s funny when my kid curses. Mainly because she’s still tiny and she has no idea what she’s saying.

2. I see no reason why we cannot eat dinner in the living room.

1. I am always the one who initiates sex. Always.

Quiet October 18, 2009

Daddy took Ava to his parents for dinner tonight. 

 

I’ve been looking forward to these few hours alllllll weekend.  My girl is great, and we’ve had lots of fun this weekend: her hoe-down, picking out crafts to make for Christmas presents and then making them… 

 

But I’m Never. Alone.  I feel as though I haven’t been alone for YEARS.  I work all day, with Ava all evening, Michael all night.  Never alone.  Always someone to take care of, to listen to, something that needs to be done.

 

And yet.  I’ve been sitting here alone for two hours, and I am ready for her to come home.  I realize that although I sometimes long for the independence I used to have, this, raising a family, it means so much more.

This one’s for you… October 17, 2009

Juliemommy and I have been best  buddies since I was 14 and she was 18.  We met when I started dating her younger brother.

 

Julie introduced me to so much:  Breakfast at Tiffany’s.  Blackberry brandy.  Candy poker.  I practically grew up at her house.  Weekends – while her parents were at the camper.  Holidays that my familyu wasn’t around for, or didn’t bother to celebrate.  Her family celebrates EVERYTHING.  There are tens of people over all the time, and they’ve watched me grow up.  They’ve become my family, too. 

 

Every day for two years, Julie picked me and her brother up at school and whisked us off .  Sometime’s she’d pick us up DURING school 🙂  Ha ha.   Sometimes they’d pack  up the trunk with blankets and snacks and sing to me under the stars in the soccer field.  They made my high school years… magical.

She fell in love and married her soulmate (don’t laugh, you.).  I knew the minute I saw him he was going to be the father of her children.  They have two – Livi’s a year older than Ava, Will’s a year younger.  The kids adore each other.

 

Julie moved to Florida, then Virginia. I don’t know exactly how many years she was gone.  She moved home soon after Will was born (he’s 3).  I’m so glad she’s home.

 

We’re each other’s yin and yang.  We hold each other steady.   I’ve never met a person with a bigger heart. She gives all of herself to her family and her friends.  To make their lives magical.  And she succeeds. 

 

I love you, lady.  You’re my sister, if not by blood, by everything else there is.

Riiiiiight. October 16, 2009

Yesterday was one of those days that reminds me how much I love what I do. At work.

 

And one of those days, once home, where I think to myself  “This is just too damn much. Too damn much for one person to handle.”

 

The day was busy, busy, busy. A Very Very Very Big Problem arose at 1 PM. I looooove Big Problems. Especially the ones I can fix.

 

I worked hard, fast, all afternoon, impressing the urgency of Fixing This Problem on our Decision Makers (in the Queen’s absence). Offering what knowledge I have as a background. Setting expectations with my client. Gathering the right people with the right expertise together to problem solve.

 

By 5:30 PM while cooking dinner for my family I was able to deliver, if not Great, certainly at the very least Acceptable news to my client. Solved, in the short term, the Big Problem.

 

It’s a Rush – every time it happens it reminds me why I love this job.

 

Meanwhile, at 4 PM every day I leave the office to get my daughter. I drive for 45 minutes to her preschool. I go to her cubby, pack up her backpack with her lunch box and whatever art she is bringing home. I read the “Parent/Teacher Journal” in her cubby describing her activities and behaviors for the day.

 

Yesterday, the teachers indicated that she did not eat her lunch. They commented in the journal that this was because Ava told them that “Mommy found that food at the bottom of an old van and packed it for my lunch! I’m not eating that!”

 

First of all. I don’t even own a van. Second of all, WTF! I made her apologize for lying to her teachers (they insisted they didn’t believe her) apologize for me for telling a lie about me. We discussed this behavior on the way home (in between work phone calls, while we were trying to solve the Big Problem). We talked again about it with Daddy when he came home – how Very Not Okay it is to lie like that!

 

The offending lunch? Bagel w. cream cheese. Apple. Green beans.

Thursday’s Assignment October 15, 2009

 

My longtime mommy friend Liz at Eternal Lizdom has invited me to participate in a group writing activity this week.  (Liz – did it work? did it work? my first bloggy hyperlink…)

 

The topic: What it Means to Be a Woman

 

I, for one, think this is tricky. What it means to be feminine? That I can write. What it means to be a wife? Same.

 

But a Woman. There are so few limitations here: The only way you can’t be a woman is if you happen to have a penis (and even then, should you be transgendered……… all bets are off.)

 

So then, I decided that I will interview those around me and ask them this question. “To you, what does it mean to be a woman? The first thing that comes to mind?” The answers I got were mostly lists of adjectives: nurturing, sexy, caregiving, multi tasking master, compassionate, strong pain tolerance, graceful. While these characteristics sure do represent aspects of women, they can represent men just as easily, I fear………….. I’d certainly use them if I were describing what feminine means….. They’re gray. My brain works only in black and white and this is a black and white question. Except I don’t really think it has a black and white answer. I’m also very literal. This question, phrased slightly differently – “What does it mean TO YOU to be a woman?” Would be an easy answer. Except that that’s not the question – the question is universal “What does it mean to be feminine” – and I cannot answer universally on this one.

 

So – I have to answer by tweaking the question, and describing MY first real understanding of what it means to be a woman:

 

Motherhood. My first encounter with my Femininity, with my womanhood, was motherhood. To carry life within my own body, to somehow, by some miracle, create a perfectly formed and whole person (with no input from me!). Who is born, miraculously, from the body created to birth it. Who drinks milk created from my very body, just for her.

 

A mother has an instinct, a life force, that is activated when that strip turns blue and multiplies the first time she hears her child’s heartbeat, and again when she sees the child on the ultrasound screen, and even more so when she then holds that child in her arms. Each event multiplies that force within her. A mother must have some semblance of compassion, of empathy, at the very  leaset a modicum of patience. Any of these attributes will grow as the child grows and the need presents itself. Another miracle. A mother understands that the most important thing she can do with her life is prepare her next generation for theirs. To be a mother is to love another more than you love yourself. To KNOW love, even.

 

Becoming a mother, feeling those little feet inside of my body, kick me, miraculously, that was when I understood womanhood. A woman is programmed to have organs that are intended to create, nurture, bring forth life, and then SUSTAIN that life.

 

To me, Womanhood is is best represented, then, by Motherhood.

 

Funny. October 13, 2009

Ava watches the Dixie Chicks “Shut up and Sing” documentary fairly frequently. She’s watching tonight after dance and gets to the part where Emily’s about to have the twins. She says “Mommy… do people get scared when they’re about to have a baby?”
“Yes, I think most people are a little scared.”
“Well that’s because you might get TWO!”
I laughed hysterically.
“But, Mommy, you get what you get, and you don’t get upset.”

Dance Your Cares Away (clap, clap!)

 

Believe it or not (and some of you Won’t), once upon a time, I was the type of person who preferred to not be seen OR heard.

Believe it or not, throughout school, I’d get ill if a teacher so much as called on me to answer a question out loud. I vomited in front of my child development class when the teacher made me read my report in front of the room (and I had a crush on someone in the class, which made my usual nerves much more intensified.)

Now, while I still do not like crowds of people, and I lack the confidence to speak to crowds if I’m not comfortable with the subject matter, I really have grown quite fond of my voice and my presence.

Motherhood helped. I think becoming someone’s mother throws out a lot of one’s insecurities and boosts one’s confidence in a lot of ways. You become… different. Thrust into being an advocate for your self and your child from “go”.

But even more than that, this JOB has changed me. From a year and a half ago to now, my confidence is exponentially Huger. My Bosslady, and the force of this job, PUSH me to be loud, be the client’s advocate. Question others. Trust your gut. (You know what? It’s sounding an awful lot like motherhood after all!)

This last year I’ve lost a considerable amount of weight (more than 40 lbs). When I started at the gym a year ago, taking classes in the group exercise room was terrifying. The mirrors all over. The lean, muscular, athletic women all around me. Superior, they were. At least at the gym. Of course, as the weeks went by and I learned a little grace, a little poise, gained a little UMPH, things changed.

At the beginning of the summer, a new class came out on Tuesday mornings. 80s Dance Groove. I was petrified. It was one thing to lift weights, do jumping jacks, etc in front of others, but DANCE? Oye. IMMEDIATELY, I fell in love. While I’m still not the most graceful, not the thinnest, maybe I still don’t have the best…. rhythm. But over the 12 summer weeks, I improved, week by week. Learned the steps to the songs. Fell in the groove of shaking my hips, shimmying, even dancing with a pole (YES! a POLE!).

And now…….. it’s rolled out for the fall season too. And I’m in heaven every Tuesday morning, from 6:30 – 7:15. Watching myself bounce like a cheerleader to “Hey Mickey!”, glide “Like an Egyptian” and shake my stuff in “Vogue” in those huge wall to wall mirrors. I sweat like no one’s business. It takes a good hour for my face to calm down from fire engine red back to normal coloring. And I’m on a high all damn morning. There’s just nothing like that class. I am SURE I am no dancer. Not destined to quit my job and perform on stage. But there is just something to be said for letting go so completely so early in the morning and letting the endorphins take over and celebrating your form (no matter what that form is!) in the mirror.

(And, besides the point, but a tidbit: How about the fact that I sang 2 karaoke songs at my own wedding? That’ll show you how far I’ve come……..)

Today I leave work early and get to take my little daughter to HER dance class. While she is certainly as passionate as her mother by nature, she’s also equally as passionate about her own dance class. I pray that it helps me to teach her early on that her reflection is gorgeous. And worthwhile.

 

Baby’s first swear… October 12, 2009

Not that she’s a baby.

 

She’s been  cut off from snacks between meals, at least temporarily.  She’ll whine about how hungry she is for hours between meals, but won’t eat at all when a meal (any meal besides those served at school, go figure)  is in front of her.

 

Normally, I give her a little snack on the ride home.  A little blood sugar increase equals a happy kid and therefore, a happy mom.  No more.  So, she was begging for her snack all the way home, and then at home, while I was cooking dinner (“QUICKLY!  VEWY VEWY FAST, MOM!”)  she followed me around begging:

A: Just a little chex mix?

M: Nope. 

A: Rats. ….  Just a little… banana? 

M: Nope.  Dinner will be ready soon.  Go turn on the tv (stellar parenting, right there)

A:  Rats.  Mommy?  How about some….

M: No, Ava.  No means no. 

A: Damn.

The Girl I'm Shopping For.

Christmas is coming!

Not for me, of course. I just had my birthday and engagement party in July, followed by a wedding in September. We received humbling amounts of love in the form of gifts that Santa, quite frankly, doesn’t owe me a damn thing this year.

 

But for my almost-five year old. Who needs NOTHING. Maybe a few more racially diverse barbies. Maybe some update art supplies and nail polish. Maybe some new books. I say this every single year: The child needs nothing. She is so happy to play with the dolls she has, the dress up clothes she has, the books she has, etc. While she goes nuts over every new (replacement) watercolor set I bring home, she really never asks for anything. Ever (except food). It’ll be a bunch of the small things listed above, with some Easy-Bake oven refills and the beautiful oversized purple Tink fleece blanket we already purchased.

 

I’d love to get her something that she’ll go crazy over. Something really special. But not in her lifetime, not for the life of me, have I been able to find that special something.

 

Ideas?