After a bad storm in our area, we lost our satellite dish.  Horrors!  We were forced to talk to each other! The dish was out for about three weeks.  We got it restored yesterday and Maury was on.  Immediately I began to wonder why I missed it.

   There is a car commercial that depicts a young woman getting ready to leave on a trip.  Her voice is that of a toddler, which is how her father sees her.  As one who is knee deep in the parental time warp, I totally get it.  I wouldn’t buy the car, but I definitely understand distorted parental vision.  I could have sworn the three foot tall pteredactyl stomping around my house just got home from the hospital last week.  For that matter, didn’t I just celebrate my 30th birthday?  I sure did, about ten years ago.  

   I don’t feel that much older from day to day.  Occasionally, I get an obnoxious reminder of the contrary when I’m at my gym or bending over to pick up my daughter.  I’m not sure I even look much different than I did ten years ago except now the grey hair is getting easier to find. 

   Where I can see the changes are when I look at my daughter and my mom.  At two and a half, the changes in Claire are rapid and frequently surprising.  Every parent thinks their child is a genius but again, it’s a distorted view.  It’s not so much that she is brilliant but that I’m exhausted and unwittingly under constant surveillance.

   For a period of about twenty years, my mother was around forty.  Her hair was always the same color and she was constantly working.  Now that my father is gone and she is in a new, smaller home, she has reached her sixties.  I can see the age spots and the grey hair and how she gets tired now.  It saddens me in patches to understand that these are the days I need to hang onto with tooth and nail, leaving claw marks behind me.

   To our children, we start out brilliant, then we get stupid, and then as they get older, we slowly regain our intelligence.  At least, that’s how I hope it goes for me.  My mother thinks Claire is the smartest creature on the planet.  This must be in defiance of her mother’s DNA as I am increasingly convinced my mom thinks I’m a complete idiot. 

‘You have too much stuff.’ ( I hadn’t noticed , my eyes were closed.)

‘You need to get the pool cleaned.’ ( You mean the water isn’t supposed to match the grass?)

‘It’s dusty in here.’ (But I was saving those cobwebs for Halloween.)

There are a plethora of observations like these she’s convinced I need to be told because they aren’t done yet.  See previous paragraph about hanging onto these days blah blah blah.

   My mother and I have different priorities.  I choose not to put the housework ahead of other activities like playing with Claire, napping, baking and working out.  Cleaing is lower on my totem pole.  I’m sure she thinks my pole is upside down.  

   There are parts of her advice that I do cherish.  I know virtually nothing about plants and flowers and she is remarkably handy at small repairs.  I also do not know how to make pierogi from scratch, something I definitely plan to learn.  I do not know if I’ll gain any IQ points between now and the time I lose her.  Every April I get a little smarter when I do her tax return.  I can certainly hang onto that.  In the meantime, for now at least, my baby girl thinks I’m smart - but what does she know?

   The thing about this body is that it doesn’t feel like a body at all.  It’s more of an apartment building

with an active tenant downstairs.  There seems to be a combination of soccer, Irish step dancing, and

Tang Soo Do going on down there, frequently when I’m trying to go to sleep.  I remember I was an

“innie” a month or two ago.  I even had abs in my thirties.  The “occupant” is also making push ups 

more interesting since I can’t tighten my abs.  If I get any rounder, I’ll have to dig a hole in the floor.  I

feel a lot like a “weeble” with legs. Sometimes, the “tenant” feels like an angry old person banging a

broomstick against the ceiling. Is she mooning everybody through my clothes?  It would help me to

remember this the next time I talk to my boss.

    There are plenty of other changes I’ve noticed. (So many complaints, so little time.)  I miss having 

energy.  At over six months pregnant,  I am frequently bringing home a baby bumble bee just trying to

go to the store (when I’m not in the powder room).  This body also changes quickly, or maybe I’m just

slow on the uptake.  I’m frequently in need of pants. Last week I was fine, or at least ok, and this week

it’s ‘Merry Christmas!’  What’s with the belly?  I don’t remember strapping on a watermelon.  ‘Relax’,

my friend said, ‘you’re supposed to look like this, there’s a baby in there.’  This makes for a lot more of

me to haul around than I’m used to.

    The blessing is, I really haven’t gained as much weight as some do.  I am allegedly “carrying small”

in the sense that I am showing, but only to my friends, unless I’m wearing maternity clothes.  The

problem is, I’m having a hard time seeing it.  That’s the problem with eating disorders, you can

gain the weight back but the crap colored glasses never come off.  I don’t think I’ll ever be able to see

myself objectively as others do.  Forget liking what I see.  I frequently get the fun house mirror view,

and not in a good way. 

     I am still working at my job, in between doctor’s appointments.  I haven’t told anyone there we are

pregnant.  I find it baffling that no one has said a word to me since I’ve gained 20 pounds over the last 

six months.  Then again, I frequently feel like I could show up in swim fins and a tutu and no one

would notice.  There’s the equal likelihood that no one cares, my office is not big on “warm fuzzies”. 

     I also miss having ankles.  My mom grew up on a farm in Poland.  One day recently, I took my

shoes off and I looked like the pigs feet in aspic she used to make, without the vinegar.  This does not 

look like a good summer for sandals.  I called the doctor’s office to ask where my ankles went and they

said “More fluids.”  More fluids??!!  I thought I was peeing enough now!  ‘Wasn’t I retaining water 

like the Hoover Damn, hence the swelling?’, I asked. “Hormones”, they said.  ‘O, Goody’, I said. 

     This brings me to another issue I have with this body, the ‘scrambled brain syndrome’ I keep

running into.  I was never what I considered ‘normal’ before.  I was however, able to eat lunch without

wearing it, not lose items I put back in the same place everyday, and I was able to have a conversation

with my spouse sans going from ok to furious or bawling nut job in 7.6 seconds.   The hormone fairy

flipped open my cranium, put a stick in there and really stirred things up. ( I hate that b**ch.)  I wish it

was possible to send my husband a bouquet of beer to his office.  ‘You’ve got two and a half months

left to go’, my friend said, ‘better get him a keg.’  Thanks, love you too.  We are decorating the nursery

with baby Looney Tunes.  How fitting.    

   Post script:  The evicted tensnt is now almost finished the first grade. I still don't have my body back.  Oh and Happy Mother's Day!

 Silence.  Oh no, she’s quiet and I can’t see her!  Claire, what are you up to?  Toddler plus quiet equals trouble.  My mistake for resting on the couch and thinking she was occupied.  I was right - she was.  

   It had been a while since I’d moved that quickly and mercifully, my back chose not to stop me.  I got up and went into my kitchen and sure enough, standing at the epicenter was my two year old.  My purse contents were scattered in about a four foot radius around our curly haired little cherub who just stood there about to open my lipstick with a “Who me?” look on her face.

   I immediately removed the offending cosmetic from her and plopped her diapered butt on our couch in the living room.  “WAAAAAAAAAAUUGH!!!” Yeah, yeah, I know, Management Unfair!

   This was just the latest in a string of my unpopular decisions like carrots and naptime.  I adjourn to the kitchen to reassemble the purse contents and make sure nothing scary had been eaten.  There’s a reason I have an open bottle of wine on my counter.  

    I can't believe Easter has come and gone.  Pretty soon I'll have a summer on my hands.  Normal humans would think this is a good thing.  It is in some respects.  Sleeping in is always a plus.  Our beach vacation is a huge plus.  I managed to get a summer camp lined up for our six year old.  I can hope to God it works out.  My problem will be what to do if it doesn't.  I think a concrete plan B would help.
   I'm adjusting to this whole new having to keep on top of things world our daughter has dragged us into.  It appears I no longer have the luxury of being a "pantser".  Things book up.  In a sense it's good to know I'm not alone in trying to keep a kid occupied during the summer.
   Now that there's actually a discernable season, Spring also means yard work.  It's especially true for us as we contemplate moving.  I had recently taken my mother on a long drive to Pennsylvania.  We got home around 3pm and my mom looks around our yard and pronounced it a nightmare. "You really need to clean up all this dead stuff!"
   While I agreed with her initial observation, it was the timing that threw me.  Immediately, she had us ripping out weeds, raking leaves and pruning annual flowers.  Thankfully, my spouse was right in there pitching along with our daughter.  She got bored quickly and mercifully, hurricane mom-mom ran out of steam. The problem was we were knee deep in a project we just couldn't stop in the middle. Eight trash bags of leaves and a couple of trash cans later we came in the house and collapsed.  Did I mention we were a tad behind in our outside maintenance?  (Let me emphasize "were".)
   We were lucky in that we had the weekend to recover.  In the end I admit I'm grateful we got it done.  The problem was the day was raw and cold and the entire episode was the last thing I was in the mood for.  My mom reminded me of something. I told her that our girl complained a lot about mommy 'making her do her homework and other things she hates'.  I was actually able to explain to our six year old that 'Mommies make you do things you don't want to and guess what?  They never stop!'  

For your consideration, a dated essay that's still true dammit.

    And they all lived happily ever after….a work in progress.  Who are all these happy bastards and how do I join that club?  Is it because I frequently find myself sucked into my own personal vortex that I can’t see clearly?  Maybe it’s because I’m too busy looking upward wondering what hit me that it’s so hard for me to learn whatever it is life is trying to teach me.

    Recently, I’ve been having a hard time understanding and acting on these lessons.  I think it’s because I haven’t been able to get past the initial hurts to see them clearly.  Over the last five years I lost three people very close to me.  The first, my Dad, was not surprising as he’d been sick.  It didn’t hurt any less knowing that it was coming but at least I had the chance to say everything I needed to before he was gone.  

   I guess it was the next two that I have the most trouble with.  The first issue I have is with God or the higher powers that be.  It’s because they were sudden and, in my opinion, undeserved.  Al was my former fiancé and while he wasn’t the right spouse for me, he was still a good person.  The last time we spoke he was just getting his life together.  All the issues that had plagued our relationship were finally becoming clear to him.  I even told him that it was good that he was figuring these things out now while he was still young enough to make the changes he wanted.  He was worried he was too old.  We had no idea he was right.  Three days after we spoke, he was gone.  

   Are we fated to live only a certain amount of time?  Why take away a person’s chance for a fresh start just when he was finally ready?  In Al’s case it was a freak accident while cleaning his truck.  My regrets are small potatoes compared to how unfairly his life was cut short.  I was sorry I hadn’t kept in touch with Al more closely over the years.  

   The last loss was probably the hardest and most shocking.  It was the hardest for me because I had so many regrets and missed opportunities.  Connie’s loss ripped a hole in our family.  I lost my sister, her son lost his mom, and my mother lost a daughter.  It doesn’t get much more shocking than a brain aneurism late at night. At six weeks old, Claire didn’t understand her Aunt’s funeral. 

   In the following two years, the only time I’ve seen my mother happy like she used to be was when she spent time with my daughter.  Why do I never hear about these kinds of things happening to bad people?  I remember a friend once remarked ‘What makes you think God wants the bad people any more than you do?’ 

   There are plenty of things I’m still struggling to understand.  The basic things I get.  Appreciate the time you have since you can never tell how much you’ll have.  Cherish your family and loved ones since they are only on loan from God.  Do what you love, life is short.  

   So why do I find myself stuck in my own personal vortex instead of acting on the lessons that hurt so much to acquire?  Wasn’t this sinking in?  Was it complacency and fear of the unknown?  I’m sure that’s some of it.  My vortex is a comfortable place, after all.  Breaking out of this pattern I’ve established takes more than courage, it needs justification, too.  If I’m not earning money, cleaning something, or spending time with Claire, I’m goofing off, right?  Focus on writing for the joy of it and the rest will take care of itself.  Have faith.

   Treating the pursuit of my dream as important as a job – what a fairy tale!

   

more drama

  I am writing a post to all the mommies of school age children to see if I can get some help.  My first grader, who is, by all accounts intelligent, has the focus of an overcaffeinated squirrel.  I am wondering what tricks if any I can use to get her to kill off her homework instead of dragging out the agony like painful peanut butter.  My grown up brain can't understand why she hasn't figured out the advantage to getting it over with.  I refuse to turn on the TV or let her have her ipad until it's done, you would think that would be some shred of an incentive.  I'm open to suggestions on this.  The funny part is first graders don't get much homework.  Meryl Streep also hasn't figured out that it only gets worse from here. I would have said that it's cabin fever by this point of the year but we've been going through this since September.   A therapist has pointed out that maybe she needs exercise right after school to blow off some energy in the hopes she'll be able to settle down.  I wouldn't have thought of this because she's thin.  I am planning to try it though in the hopes I'll save money on alcohol (not for her).  I hope your spring is going well.