Archive for January, 2007

My righteous indignation of last eve has faded a bit, although I’m still twinging about the notion that What Mothers Do is of the utmost concern of the world at large and a subject to be closely monitored so as to ensure that those wacky mothers don’t get up to hijinks.  Otherwise known as ‘was this all a big deal before it was on national television?’

I ended up writing a piece for workshop about feeling misled about the camaraderie of motherhood.  It started out about how stupid it was that NBC decided that it is too risky for mothers to drink alcoholic beverages, and then I realized that I’m really just sick of being a demographic–white, married, mother of one, over 30, citydweller, some college.  I’m tired of the decisions I make for my family and myself being held up for judgment by people whose opinions really do not matter to me.  It sounds like I’m setting up my soapbox again but really, I’m not.  I just want motherhood to be considered a part of my life rather than that which defines me above all else.

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I am trying desperately to write about the whole cocktail playdate phenomena without driving myself flipping crazy.  Which is impossible.  I mean, really, having never been on a playdate in my life, I have no idea what a sober playdate is, much less one on which one or both parents may be drunk.  Har.

This is not the point, though.  The point is, I wouldn’t want my child to have a playdate with a parent who is a racist.  I won’t have a playdate with a person who thinks that homosexuality signals the apocalypse. You want to think that having a glass of wine or a beer during your child’s waking hours signifies abuse or neglect or that ephemeral ‘bad parenting?’  Keep it to yourself, man.  And, really, if you think that having a drink, same-sex relationships or being of a different race is bad, go the hell elsewhere.

The fact is, we spend most of our lives being told that we have to be a certain way to be acceptable.  This is a steaming pile of bullshit.  If you’re so wrapped up in how folks have to be to be acceptable, you have too much goddamn time on your hands.

In my own rather convoluted way, I’d like to thank this bullshit for reminding me why I can’t be arsed to goosestep behind the Mothers Who Fear Being Wrong More Than Making a Decision For Themselves.  Melissa, I salute you.  Zero Boss, Kristen, CityMama, Mrs. Kennedy, you have all been more eloquent than I could ever dare to be.  Because, really, standing up for the right of mothers to have a drink during a playdate sounds sort of silly in the 2007, but it seems as though fewer people want to do it than one would expect.  Having a drink does not mean getting shitwrecked.  If you can’t have a drink without getting endangering yourself, don’t.  If you can comprehend the difference between a glass of wine with hors d’oeuvres and keg stands, drop by any time.  All y’all others?  With all due respect, I don’t think y0u’ll get along with us.

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I don’t know, man.  We were in Florida, and then we had houseguests for a few days, and all of a sudden it’s the end of January.  If I wasn’t so goddamn exhausted, I’d think I’d been hibernating.

Tomorrow is Lucy’s 4th birthday, and we have no plans.  Child doesn’t like sweets so we’ve ordered a chocolate mousse cake for C and I.  We don’t exactly have friends locally, much less friends with kids, so no party.  Decorations from last year will go up whilst she’s sleeping and then we’ll make waffles for breakfast and open the few presents she didn’t get early (Playmobil crap, gifts from Gramma L.)  We’re also getting her a fishtank once C gets settled in classes and we have some semblance of a schedule worked out.  In other words, we’re milking this last low-key birthday for all it’s worth.  Besides, all she asked for was Birthday Crackers.

Workshop started Monday and I’m feeling pretty good about it in spite of not having written anything and taking in the piece I’m trying to find a home for.  Seems like a good group.  Went to the First Person Narrative Writing panel discussion deal through Mediabistro on Tuesday and it totally rocked.  Consider me inspired to write again.  Which is handy since I have to take something in on Monday.  Not that I know what I’m going to write.

I’m officially sick of winter.  Is there such a think as Seasonal Affective Crankiness?  Because I think I have it if there is.  It’s ironic, eh, considering how temperate this winter has been?

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Things that I hate

On the phone tonight with my mom, she casually mentions to me that she is pretty sure she has emphysema but refuses to either quit smoking or see a doctor to confirm this.

Thanks, mom.  Really.

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C went to the police station to look at photos of his mugger, and I was right.  Another kid got mugged the Saturday after C did, by what seems to be the same guy.  Whose mom lives in our neighborhood.  Who does this often.  With whom the police are familiar enough to know by name.  They’re going to have C come in for a line-up.

I’m really tempted to go walking around on Sat. night so that if this dude tries to mug me I can be all like, ‘Hey, *name here*, you’re visiting your mom, huh?’  Because that would be fun.  Except in my fantasy, I have a very large, blunt object to swing above my head.

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I feel as though I’ve been very, very busy but I have no proof of that whatsoever.  I’m pretty sure I spent 2 hours doing nitpicky cleaning up in Lucy’s room yesterday which seems like more time than necessary, and I know I cleaned out the fridge and litter box and did some vacuuming, but other than that?  No effing clue.

Uncle W is coming into town this evening with his girlfriend so I’ve been engaging in my usual spate of ridiculous cleaning.  You know, where suddenly it seems crucial to scrub the floor of the pantry and reorganize sock drawers and arrange dress-up clothes by genre.  ‘Don’t mind the Cheerio pieces, guys, just come look at how clean the a/c filters are!’  Bah.

I’m very much looking forward to workshop starting up again so that I have at least one thing to show up for each week.

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Exhausting and with better weather! We got home Sunday night from a jaunt to Tampa and it has taken me until this morning to fully reacclimate to a home schedule. Craziness.

On Thursday, we went to the Monsters of the Deep exhibit at MoSI and I got to lie on a bed of nails here. Friday we went to the Lowry Park Zoo and fed giraffes and Lucy and I rode on a camel with her cousin. I only minorly tweaked my hamstring getting on and off. Which was only moderately humiliating. Must start stretching. Friday night C, his sister and I went to see Blood Diamond. I cried through around two thirds of it. Saturday my SIL and I took her son and Lucy to see The Ant and the Grasshopper over here. Sunday was Lucy’s first trip to a mall (before the stores opened, of course) and a bit of running around on a playground before heading to the airport. A good time was had by all.

Back here at the ranch, it’s been 2 weeks, 1 Day, 6 hours and 26 minutes since I’ve had a cigarette. Which means less and less as the days go on, since honestly, the temptation to smoke is next to not at all at this point. I still haven’t started coughing up any grossness, though it does feel like my lung capacity is improving.  And, best of all, only one anxiety attack since I quit!  With travel and staying at someone else’s house and packing and the like, that is a pretty huge deal.  I’m well pleased.

So, what have y’all been up to?

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Holy groggy

I’m not sure if my eyes are ever going to focus properly again but I’m sure that’s just because I’m lacking coffee, right?  I am tired tired tired this morning.

It has been 1 week, 1 day, and close to 7 hours since I last had a cigarette.  I have saved $66 on cigarettes (they’re $8 a pack here; I wasn’t smoking multiple packs a day or anything.)  I’m thinking of going to get my hair cut to celebrate since we leave for Florida tomorrow, but I’ll probably end up doing laundry instead.  Hoorah!

Yup, that’s it.  I’ve seriously spent the past week doing a limited number of things:

  1. eating sugar-free pudding and string cheese
  2. laundry–I’m down to one load of dirty stuff.  that’s a lot of laundry
  3. watching crime drama (CSI and the various Law and Orders.)   I didn’t realize before I quit smoking that there is always an episode of one of the above playing.  It’s come in very handy!

It really does feel sometimes as though I’ve broken up with smoking.  In the immortal words of Cop Shoot Cop, it only hurts when I breathe.  Except it doesn’t hurt when I breathe at all 🙂

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Son of a Fucking Bitch

So my husband is currently riding around in a cop car looking for the waste of flesh who fucking mugged him like ten feet away from our building.  Nice, right?  C’s fine, albeit furious.  I am absolutely livid, and a little freaked out.  See, where we live is sort of like suburbia.  There are free-standing houses across the street from us, and a park a block away.  It’s where old people and families live.  Not that we’re all leaving doors unlocked or anything, but we generally feel safe if you have to run across Queens Blvd for a carton of milk at 11 at night.  Well, not so much anymore I guess.  Which really sort of sucks.

The thing that really pisses me off, though?  Not the potential danger to my husband, or even the slap in the face of the proximity.  It’s the fact that some jackass threatened to stab my husband, took his money, and freaking disappeared.  God knows nobody’s ever going to catch him, and now I’m all edgy and wired and fucking fuming at 12:30 am and I’m sure C is ten times over, and this motherfucking piece of trash is probably off getting lit somewhere and I CAN’T EVEN HAVE A GODDAMN CIGARETTE BECAUSE I’D HAVE TO FIND HIM AND STOMP HIM IF HE CAUSED ME TO START SMOKING AGAIN.  Son of a bitch.  Every siren I hear I’m fucking praying that bastard is caught.

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Rock out to the musical stylings of Slackdaddy with me! The drummer was my date for junior prom and the bass player is totally my bass hero!

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