We just spent a small fortune on patio/ deck furniture. Guess we better get a patio.The point of this new ensemble is part of my master plan to create an outdoor living space where me and the other moms in my neighborhood can drink large quantities of alcohol without worrying about spillage on the carpet. Well, sort of, anyway.
Obviously since three of us are pregnant we wont be drinking anytime soon. But still. we could sit there in the shade of an enormous umbrella, on the plushy cushions and look like we haven't a care in the world except for the raging demands of our toddlers. We would converse because that's what the set is called. It's a conversational set - not a Sleeping Set or a Reading Room. Conversational. I prefer adult talk but you can sit there and converse about anything as long as you aren't doing it with a stupid voice for that of a 5 inch tall stuffed monkey. Throw in some pretty landscaping and a nice sized swing set and I'm in heaven.
And Happy, Happy Mother's Day to me.
Wednesday night, thru tears, I wrote a very detailed entry about all the reasons and emotions behind my feelings toward living here in NJ. But the power of the internet is not great enough to contain such emotion, apparently. Firefox wiped all my tear filled sentences away - just like that.
So today, like many days lately, I just don't have the energy to go through it all again. The gist of it is this:
After a year and a half of living here in NJ, I sadly report that I have not gotten used to it. In fact, I have many regrets about leaving California. I knew these regrets would come. I'm used to ups and downs of starting a new life in a new place. But what I wasn't prepared for was the seemingly endless battle to make my place here or the financial hit that our family would take from living in the NE during a recession and how our effort to stay afloat would take time away from our family.
There are a lot of good things about NJ, however. I love our house, which we have made a real home. Also, there are the parks, the proximity to NYC, the comfort of having family nearby to help us with August. Recently, I have even started to make a few friends, whom, I have no doubt will be of the lifelong variety if I am around long enough. But there is so much more to daily life than these things. Most of my days are spent alone. Alone in the truest sense of the word.
I think I have avoided being completely honest with myself about all these things because I kept thinking that if I just hang around long enough I will, as I said, "get used to it". Instead, Mike has become increasingly disillusioned with the way things are as well. Some of his complaints are the same and some are different. For one, he has the added confusion of trying to assimilate back into his family as an adult who is a husband and father. This is so much easier said than done and the process takes an emotional drain on everyone involved. I have quite the appreciation for my older siblings for going through it all with our parents first so that anything I have done in my adult life has been about as hard as eating a pan full of brownies. Poor Mike is the eldest of four.
I don't know what all this means exactly. I just felt like saying it - getting it off my chest. And I admit, perhaps I just need to see it in print so I can move on to the next step - whatever that is. Maybe we'll move when the economy picks up. Maybe we'll take frequent vacations away from the sucky weather and the mean drivers. Maybe I'll feel justified in eating mint chocolate chip ice cream every day.
Meanwhile, bear with me while I muddle through. And I promise to stop picking on NJ as soon as it stops living up to it's bad reputation.
So today, like many days lately, I just don't have the energy to go through it all again. The gist of it is this:
After a year and a half of living here in NJ, I sadly report that I have not gotten used to it. In fact, I have many regrets about leaving California. I knew these regrets would come. I'm used to ups and downs of starting a new life in a new place. But what I wasn't prepared for was the seemingly endless battle to make my place here or the financial hit that our family would take from living in the NE during a recession and how our effort to stay afloat would take time away from our family.
There are a lot of good things about NJ, however. I love our house, which we have made a real home. Also, there are the parks, the proximity to NYC, the comfort of having family nearby to help us with August. Recently, I have even started to make a few friends, whom, I have no doubt will be of the lifelong variety if I am around long enough. But there is so much more to daily life than these things. Most of my days are spent alone. Alone in the truest sense of the word.
I think I have avoided being completely honest with myself about all these things because I kept thinking that if I just hang around long enough I will, as I said, "get used to it". Instead, Mike has become increasingly disillusioned with the way things are as well. Some of his complaints are the same and some are different. For one, he has the added confusion of trying to assimilate back into his family as an adult who is a husband and father. This is so much easier said than done and the process takes an emotional drain on everyone involved. I have quite the appreciation for my older siblings for going through it all with our parents first so that anything I have done in my adult life has been about as hard as eating a pan full of brownies. Poor Mike is the eldest of four.
I don't know what all this means exactly. I just felt like saying it - getting it off my chest. And I admit, perhaps I just need to see it in print so I can move on to the next step - whatever that is. Maybe we'll move when the economy picks up. Maybe we'll take frequent vacations away from the sucky weather and the mean drivers. Maybe I'll feel justified in eating mint chocolate chip ice cream every day.
Meanwhile, bear with me while I muddle through. And I promise to stop picking on NJ as soon as it stops living up to it's bad reputation.
I'm the first to scream at expectant mothers that I want to see a photo of the pregnant belly, so I don't know why it took me so long to get this out there.
But here is more proof that I am, indeed, quite pregnant and everything is fine. Thanks for asking.
I'm approximately 24 weeks along in these photos.
Another perfectly good white boy goes to waste. And a talented one at that.
Continue reading Monster!.
On May 15th the new babysitter/ Love Of My Life will be starting the Summer of Love with us. On that day I expect I will pace around the bedroom a few times wringing my hands, repeating "So much time! So much peace!" I'm not going to say that I won't know what to do with myself. The list is long.
This also means that I will have to fire the current babysitter. And it may surprise you to know that I find nothing fun about that. The problem has become, not so much her lack of creativity with August, but Augusts lack of respect for her. August bosses her around like a servant. It's true that she has been trying this Cleopatra persona out on everyone lately, including me, but I get to dish it back to her or ignore her completely when she's over the top. The babysitter... she's a bit lost with this. As a result, August has been telling me that she doesn't like the babysitter. Hard to argue with that.
But what to say? "It's not you, it's the kid. She just doesn't like you." A bit harsh, right?
On the other hand, judging from the way my child has been acting the last few days, the babysitter might have to stifle a huge sigh of relief when I tell her she longer has to endure August's unreasonable demands for - well, everything.
I'm pretty sure I talked about this on my previous blog but what the hell. It's happening again.
We all have heard the being pregnant makes a woman more emotional. But to say that's what happens with me is like saying that the main result of the fall of the Berlin Wall was that it made a small section of Germany more breezy.
See what I mean? If you were pregnant, you'd get that.
Anyway, what happens to me when my hormones are messed with is that my emotional filter dissolves. Meaning, all the self control and wisdom I use to keep myself from being angry, crying or generally drawing too much attention to myself or my insecurities is gone. If I feel angry, I lash out. If I feel happy, I laugh. If I am moved or saddened, I cry. And no matter how much I prided myself in my ability to remain stoic and unfazed during times of stress in the past, these present days are littered with moments when my true emotions jump out there for all to see.
It's maddening for a self control freak like me.
That being said, the worst possible place for me to be is a family gathering. A gathering where I am not actually blood related to the family. One where dinner is served at 8:30 - 2 hours past my normal time to eat and a half hour past my daughter's bedtime.
The truth is, even on a good day, MJ's large family gatherings unnerve me. They yell and interrupt each other a lot. The atmosphere is chaotic and stressful compared to how I grew up. Each get-together sets me back a day or two on whatever discipline/schedule progress I've made with August. When I'm with them, I sort of feel invisible because I lack the energy or desire to scream loud enough to be heard. Baring in mind that these are totally nice people and I know I am lucky they are so kind and well intended. It does not change the fact that even after sharing their last name for 2 years, I still feel no more a part of their clan than I would feel a part of the Boston Red Sox if I attended all their home games.
And I think all of these things are the reasons why I left the Seder Saturday night and sat in the downstairs bathroom crying while everyone else was eating matzo ball soup.
Admitting that I am this lonely for some familiarity and this irritated by lack of connection to a family I should be able to trust and feel secure in is not something I ever wanted to do. Were I not pregnant and my emotions able to be controlled, I believe I would be still convincing myself that none of this matters. I would have eaten my soup, stumbled through the rest of the Seder with a convincing smile and possibly even enjoyed myself once I blocked out the fact that I have no meaningful conversations with anyone that do not revolve around my daughter. I wouldn't have been angry; I would have been numb. I would have liked that because with the stoic scenario, there is no possibility of hurting anyone's feelings.
But I don't have that luxury. I cried like a baby when we watched Juno in the cinema a month or so ago because I have an enormous amount of sympathy for teenage moms and mom-hopefuls. And I cried harder Saturday night because that is truly how sad I am most days to not have the relationship with my husband's family that I wish I did.
We all have heard the being pregnant makes a woman more emotional. But to say that's what happens with me is like saying that the main result of the fall of the Berlin Wall was that it made a small section of Germany more breezy.
See what I mean? If you were pregnant, you'd get that.
Anyway, what happens to me when my hormones are messed with is that my emotional filter dissolves. Meaning, all the self control and wisdom I use to keep myself from being angry, crying or generally drawing too much attention to myself or my insecurities is gone. If I feel angry, I lash out. If I feel happy, I laugh. If I am moved or saddened, I cry. And no matter how much I prided myself in my ability to remain stoic and unfazed during times of stress in the past, these present days are littered with moments when my true emotions jump out there for all to see.
It's maddening for a self control freak like me.
That being said, the worst possible place for me to be is a family gathering. A gathering where I am not actually blood related to the family. One where dinner is served at 8:30 - 2 hours past my normal time to eat and a half hour past my daughter's bedtime.
The truth is, even on a good day, MJ's large family gatherings unnerve me. They yell and interrupt each other a lot. The atmosphere is chaotic and stressful compared to how I grew up. Each get-together sets me back a day or two on whatever discipline/schedule progress I've made with August. When I'm with them, I sort of feel invisible because I lack the energy or desire to scream loud enough to be heard. Baring in mind that these are totally nice people and I know I am lucky they are so kind and well intended. It does not change the fact that even after sharing their last name for 2 years, I still feel no more a part of their clan than I would feel a part of the Boston Red Sox if I attended all their home games.
And I think all of these things are the reasons why I left the Seder Saturday night and sat in the downstairs bathroom crying while everyone else was eating matzo ball soup.
Admitting that I am this lonely for some familiarity and this irritated by lack of connection to a family I should be able to trust and feel secure in is not something I ever wanted to do. Were I not pregnant and my emotions able to be controlled, I believe I would be still convincing myself that none of this matters. I would have eaten my soup, stumbled through the rest of the Seder with a convincing smile and possibly even enjoyed myself once I blocked out the fact that I have no meaningful conversations with anyone that do not revolve around my daughter. I wouldn't have been angry; I would have been numb. I would have liked that because with the stoic scenario, there is no possibility of hurting anyone's feelings.
But I don't have that luxury. I cried like a baby when we watched Juno in the cinema a month or so ago because I have an enormous amount of sympathy for teenage moms and mom-hopefuls. And I cried harder Saturday night because that is truly how sad I am most days to not have the relationship with my husband's family that I wish I did.
At the park today I actually broke a sweat. The sun came out like a rescue plane on LOST and all the mothers and toddlers flocked to the playground. They were weeping, tearing at their clothes. August looked at me with wide eyes and asked if God had come back.
If it goes back below 45 degrees in the next two days, I'm afraid there will be mass suicides in NJ. For now, life goes on.
I'm sort of in love with Twitter. This is likely because it doesn't make me feel guilty for writing short, meaningless sentences.
A sampling:
I've been Googling this sentence:"2 year old hates babysitter"
That should tell you how my afternoon is going.
Before I type the rest of this story, I feel obliged to inform you that everyone I know considers my daughter to be the best behaved child in the county, the country, the universe... okay EVER. She sincerely is adored and worshiped by all who know her. And so I can't, for the life of me (as my mother says), figure out why she has succumbed to the commonplace actions of a typical two year old.
I remember the first few times I heard her say the word "No". It was cute. Look at her, I thought. My daughter, asserting herself. She knows what she wants!
But here lately, when she says it robotically, repeatedly, what I am thinking is, You will not win, you little turd. I am bigger, wiser and I will not let you break me.
Thankfully, she cannot read my mind - though I swear she's trying. She looks at me with the contempt of Stewie. She searches my eyes for any sign of weakness.
But the hardest part of parenting these days is when she is acting the opposite of what I've just spoken. She clings to me as if we are on a sinking ship and I am her only hope. And at no other time is this drama higher than when the babysitter arrives once a week to give me a much needed three hour break from mommy-hood. You would think our 15 year old, cheerleader babysitter is a 300 pond monster who wields a cigarette as a disciplinary tool. Granted, the sitter isn't exactly the brightest star in these polluted skies, she is certainly nice. And I am always here, within listening distance, all three hours of this torture. I am merely upstairs, typing a blog entry for example.
The Great Wise Internet tells me this is just a phase. I've concluded that is what most of parenting is. Outlasting the Phases without damaging you or the child too much. I've given up on not damaging her at all. I dig my heals in for her early teens. At some point, I expect her to hate me.
But not now. Right now she adores me, needs me. If anything she is dependent upon me as someone with who she can safely try out her newly discovered ability to demand M&M's and "One more book". She needs to practice reading minds. She will need this ability when she gets married someday or tries to work through health insurance problems.
I had big thoughts to speak of but just spent the last hour trying to figure out why my Twitter badge (See green square, upper right) displays my quotation marks all screwy. Now I'm exhausted from struggling with discouraged brain cells. And my ass is numb.
Goodnight.
Goodnight.
