Star Boy

Brother's birthday is this week and we are having a bowling/pizza party type thing this weekend. I still need to wrap his presents. I can't believe how much time has passed since he was born. It makes me nostalgic for the baby days of old.

Right now he is so shiny. He is like a happy laughing star. I am so glad he is who he is, with his quirky sense of humor and vast imagination. I love the way his little self is curled up when he sleeps and how he has found such fascination in Mario and Captain Underpants. It is so hard for him sometimes to be a good big brother and it seems he is always giving up things so that Jelly can be kept happy (i.e. not screaming). Sharing toys, sharing games, sharing snacks. I wish I could give him something that was all his and that I would never ask him to "just please let your brother hold it for a minute???" Do all parents struggle with this? The give and the take and the struggle to make sure family life and relationships are fair for the most part? I am glad that this birthday party is going to be about him and his friends. A kid needs something just for himself.

Terrible Twos

Jelly Bean was sick on Friday and a bit hellacious all weekend. Not because he was acting sick, but because he was spastic-Tasmanian-devil-like-hellbeast. Oy. He would be aggressively destroying item X and a parental unit would rush him, put him to the side, and start to repair item X, only to find that in the 12.65 seconds eyes had been taken off of said hellbeast, he had moved on to destroy item Y. And this went on...and on...and on.

I want to blame in on the drug cocktails they had him on, but alas. In the waiting room at the doctor's office before the appointment he was running around and screaming happily like a crazy thing. Then he would yell, "Hide, Mommy! Hide!' and dive under the quasi-sofa, giggling maniacally while I tried to dig him out and tell him to "use his inside voice" through clenched teeth.

This morning he was bouncing in his crib (we are sleeping in the big boy bed off and on.) He holds onto the railing and JUMPS! That boy can get some height, I tell you. He was bouncing and laughing and I smiled at him as I was picking out clothes for the day.

"Jelly Bean, are you happy?"
"NOOO!" (insert afore mentioned maniacal laughter)
"Um, are you sad?"
"YES!" (repeat maniacal laughter)

Ah, motherhood. I just want a nap. That boy makes me feel old. Someone wake me when he is 3?

Move

I go to belly dancing classes on Tuesdays. And I really like it.

When I first tried it, it seemed...well, boring. But not because of the instructor. The instructor is great. She is easy going and joyful; always laughing and making jokes. She is so beautifully vibrant and youthful (even though, truth to tell, she is older than me.) The problem was that the movements were so tiny and I am not a tiny girl and they were hard to see through the not-so-tininess. You have to isolate certain parts of your body and just use this muscle or that muscle. It was HARD to move your shoulders, but not your hips. Plus, I was not sure I actually had any rhythm.

But just like with other classes I have taken, somewhere during the week magic happens. Then you walk into class that night and the things you couldn't wrap your head around suddenly make sense and you can do it. Yay! Plus, it is just so fun to go and do something that is just for me. It has nothing to do with work or the kids or Honey. My responsibilities and worries and choices just fall away. I am here in a room with other women and we are all striving to do this one synchronized thing.

Frivolous activity? Well, depends on your perspective. The war will not end nor will my dishes get done if I can master that hip pivot. But it feels like such a sanctuary for my mind. While it is difficult, there is no internal struggle. It is simple. It is play. And there are no choices. Sometimes it is nice to just follow without wondering about the "right" course of action. Sometimes it is good to not be the leader. The instructor decides the next move; it is just up to me to do it to the best of my ability.

Grump

My day is sucking. Here's why:

• I am Mother Freakin' Freezing. Gah. It's sure hard to type when you are sitting on your hands.
• Had a conference with Brother's Teacher today. Didn't go wonderfully. The term "A-D-D" was put out there. *Sigh*
• I am battling with the pediatrician's office.
• I am tired.
• I am grumpy.
• Diet? Mmmm, not going so well. I ate whatever the hell I felt like for the past 4 days. So, now. After my big backsliding session, it feels like Day 1 of the diet, where you are cranky and tired and would mug someone for a cookie.

And I know today is a wonderful-skip-happy day. I know we are getting a great guy to be President today. But I am in my office and can't watch it because CNN is overloaded with other people stuck in their offices trying to watch it, too. I guess I will have to catch it later.

I wish today were over already already. You know what I mean. I just feel ready to crawl out of my skin.

Glad we had this talk

Talking with Jelly Bean is getting to be so fun. It is almost like we can have real conversations now! Almost. I still don't understand half of what he is saying, but there is the whole back and forth of conversation. Granted, there is still a good bit of gobbledygook that I am just not catching, even though he is looking at me so earnestly. On the other hand, I can understand some of what he is communicating with me. And he is so damn cute.

Brother is pretty fun to talk to sometimes as well. Recently he got a report card. Thus far he has taken after his parents in that he has gotten an "N" for "Needs Improvement" in handwriting every 9 weeks. I am not really upset by this. Handwriting, schmandwriting. I would rather he be able to read and do math and name the countries of the world. And their capitals....Moving on!

But, I felt the need for the obligatory "Oh, You did very well, but we need to work on our handwriting!" spiel. So, I said:

Me: We need to work on your handwriting a bit, dude.
Brother: GAHHH! What do you want me to do? Have handwriting like George Washington?!?!?
Me: Hmm, I really don't know. I don't think I have ever seen his penmanship. What about you?
Brother: Oh. It is terribly good.

See, Brother and Jelly aren't all that different. I don't understand what either of them are saying half the time. I think they get it from my mother...

Straitjacket

I have been freakishly/feverishly/addictively been hitting the Send/Receive button all day. Why? Because I am waiting for a specific email and said email is not coming.

And I am lapsing in the the 'OH NOES' of all of the things that are intrinsically wrong with me to make this person not email me back with information about this thing that I really really really want to know about. Like, I am long-winded? And ask inane questions? And the inane questions were really just to try to prove my enthusiasm and interest and may have, perhaps, just made her think that I was wishy-washy and only partially interested.

But I am not!

But then I think well...maybe I am wishy-washy! Maybe she can psychically read between the lines and knows that I am not good enough and it would be a TERRIBLE decision! AHHHHHHHH! Then I hit Send/Receive.

Send/Receive
Send/Receive
Send/Receive

No email. Sigh.

You may ask why I don't just call. Because the number is right there and it would be simple to just call and then I could quit the crazy-fretting. But then, I am simultaneously worried that she did and also did not get the email. If she did, then she really didn't reply because she knows I am wishy-washy/crazy/intrinsically morally defunct person. If she did NOT get the email, then I am being pushy and my GOD it has only been two days so what if she hasn't even checked her email? Hmmm?

Anybody got a chill pill?

Lettin' the Crazies Out

So, like.

Now I can write about it because it is very nearly over and I don't have to worry about the loco crazies coming to get me because Mah MAN is out of town. (Yeah, way to go Strong Independent Feminista.)

But Honey was on a business trip. To the BOONIES. The far far away boonies, not our own less-than-beloved boonies. And I was so apprehensive about him going and, I am not proud of this, when he walked out of the door I may or may not have sat down and cried like a little baby while Brother and Jelly Bean came to give the wrecked mama a hug...and then start sobbing themselves because I was upsetting them. Mmhmm, stellar parenting moment.

Before he left I had terrible disturbing thoughts about "What if he dies?" "What if he has an affair with the database guy?" "What if he gets in a car wreck?" "What if he gets exposed to biological mass terrorist weaponry and has to be quarantined forever and never ever comes hooooooooome!" Crazy much?

But!

I passed with flying colors, I will have you know. I was fine. I was patient. I cooked for children and made dinner for friends. I made sure Brother did homework and Jelly had baby wipes for school. I even went to my belly dancing class and got a sitter for the kids (which is something I never ever ever do, let people watch my kids. Because I am paranoid-crazy-thing.) I was awesome. And I only had to take one teeny tiny minuscule day off of work to get over my initial distress.

So, he is coming home, coming home, la te da. Sing with me! I am horribly excited. It is like I am getting a puppy or some other great thing, only minus the shit on the carpet. As schmaltzy as it is, I can't wait to give him a big old smooch, right on the kisser. Man, I love that Man.

From the Tower

We have an interesting workspace here in that we also share a building with a husband/wife business team. Yesterday, as I was walking out of the office, the Wife of said team was trying to figure out where to hang a particular piece of artwork. As we are friendly, she asked my opinion and we chatted a bit. In the end, she said, "I will get Husband to hang it here, then."

As I was doing the dishes later (which is usually Honey's task, but he was unavailable), I thought. How odd that was. It was a small piece of artwork and instead of banging a nail into the wall, she was going to get Husband to do it. And he wasn't even there and who knows when he would be in next? Now, don't think I am hating on Wife, because I do the same thing all the time. I expect that Honey will caulk and seal the new shed. Not because he has some sort of expertise in construction-y type things, but simply because it is an "outside job" and I guess, because he is the man, he gets to do the "outside jobs." Or maybe just that caulking is a masculine-manual-labor-type task and I have to stay inside to keep my skin lily white...Weird, right? It strikes my feminist self as interesting that I still do things in everyday life that reaffirm stereotypical gender roles without any really basis for the affirmation.

Not that I am saying "Let Us Take on More Tasks to Reaffirm Our Personhood", because heaven knows we have enough to do and my personhood is in no real danger here. Its just an observation to open myself up to other observations. The end.

Pretend with me...

You know what is so exciting? Fantasizing. No, no, no. Not like that. Like this:

What if... We quit our jobs and sold the house and moved to Massachusetts! The seasons! The schools! The Liberals! Yesssssss. It could be awesome. We might be able to find a place to participate in organic farm shares! Or have a Unitarian Assembly! Or not have to explain the hyphenated Last-Name to people...or *gasp* find people who wouldn't even care that we don't choose to participate in modern Christianity, let alone label us moral deviants and call my son "a very bad boy."

We could leave behind all the stuff that sucks. Like the hurricanes and 100+ degree summers. Living in the proverbial toilet bowl of the nation that always fights for last place in education/health/any other desirable attribute.

The only bad part would be that we would leave behind my parents. Oh, and snow. Possibly fuel oil prices? *Shrug* You can learn to deal with anything, I guess. I could become this social butterfly-type person who everyone loves and wants to hang out with! I could become fantastic chef and people will line up at my door for my amazing meals and companionship. (Ok, maybe I am getting carried away...) I maybe could be a real librarian. My kids would lose the atrocious accent.

Bliss.

Shred Hangover

So. I struggled, huffed, puffed, got red faced and sweating and really really really wanted to just lay down. But I completed the whole whopping 24 minutes of Level 1 in the 30 Day Shred.

Um. It was hard. (Understatement of the century)

My legs are still burning and it took so much out of me that I still feel tired. The next day. After I was done, I had a hard time walking because my muscles seem to be saying, "If you're going to treat me like that, we aren't going to work for you anymore. We Quit!"

But I think I am going to stick with it for 30 days along with watching what I eat. I can do *anything* for 30 days. If I hate it still at the end, I will just find something else to do. But it burns more calories than an hour of walking and costs a hell of a lot less than the gym.

Synopsis

Totally stole this post idea from Mad, who borrowed it from someone else. Mad used the first sentence of her first post for each month of 2008; I decided to pick the sentence I found the most interesting.

January: I burst in on my parents in their room to get the car keys at about 3 AM on the first night we were there saying, and I quote: "This is my definition of HELL."

February: Grouchiness and whiny-ness abound.

March: I guess I just have to keep in mind to try harder. Always. Try harder.

April: All over the floor and the Bean has subsequently slipped and fallen and coated himself in said coffee and is therefore a Coffee Flavored Jelly Bean.

May: Recently, I have come to the conclusion that I need books.

June: There are a lot of good opportunities right now and I think I could pass the test, but I am too scared to leave my cushy job.

July: I would feign belief that they are because I am *such* a popular girl, but I really know you all want the goods.

August: Yet, even with knowing that models are airbrushed, composed of not one woman, but many, dismembering them so that the legs are from this woman and the breasts are from that woman and the face is probably not someone real at all, but rather a computer fabrication, I still feel bad when I compare what I was born with to the image.

September: I am positively smitten with your come-hither smile and barbecue ribs.

October: "OMG, do I seriously want to get pregnant again? And feel like this? For three freaking whole months?" Bleahhhhh.

November: It feels like a exquisitely chosen gift tailored just for me.

December: We sat in the dimly lit balcony and watched the energetic maestro bob, jump and dance; her curly curly hair bouncing to the movement of her cherry red cuffs.

Conclusion: My, it seems we were a sickly bunch. But all in all, I feel like this really does summarize my year. The things I discovered and strove for. Of course, there was plenty other things like gardening and working and ups and downs. Here's to hoping that 2009 is just better. More laughter, more hugs, more comedy, more life.

Just more.