Siiiiigh

Some days, after putting in the 9 to 5 and managing all my stuff to the letter without even breaking a sweat, I come home to house full of boys and noise and flotsam and jetsam and I am lost. I am unseen, unheard, unheeded when all I really want to be is helpful. Managerial. Motherly, ya dig? All I want is for everything to be clean and tidy and organized and well-oiled. All I want is for everyone to LISTEN to me, let me delegate and jump when I say so.

And on those days I stand at my kitchen sink, immersed to the elbows, back turned to the world and I let my mind wander to a place that is just mine, where I am in total control. A place where coats and wet towels are always hung up.  Toilet seats are never pissed upon. Beds are always meticulously made. Dirty dishes never linger. Chores are always done before the Tele’s turned on. In my mind this place is beautiful and quiet and cozy and Oh That I Could Run There Now. Run and hide and stay awhile, reconsider this whole Parenting thing, decide if it’s really for me after all.

And then, one of the pre-teen-used- to-be-wee one’s, ambles in face aglow, bouncing and singing about lollipops and peppermint fields. He snatches me out of my tidy dream with his day-dirtied hand upon my back. He smiles and calls me “Momma” and suddenly I am home, I am his, I am happy.

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Originally posted in January 2008

A Manly Milestone

Originally posted in February ’08. But this one begs commemoration and so I’m reposting here. There’s no page for it in the baby book…

Today my sons discovered porn on the internet. Today is the first day of the rest of my life, stuck here, the lone woman in a house full of Boob Men.

I wonder if the hastily installed password protection, v-chip, saftey software stuff will prod the wee lads on towards Hackerdom. Something’s gotta inspire them to get into CMU. If it’s boobs, so be it.

Donna for Darfur

I originally posted this on MySpace. Since no one pays attention to MySpace anymore, I’m reposting here.

This morning I read a news story about a Rwandan woman who,  like so many Rwandan women, witnessed unspeakable acts of violence and lost her own husband and sons to the hands of Hutu extremists . They were literally hacked to pieces before her eyes by a man they once called “neighbor” and “friend.”  The story of the Rwandan genocide is politically complex, but it is on a personal level that I most relate to the tragedy: as woman, a wife, a mother.

But in 1994, when the Rwandan genocide was in full swing, I was not yet a woman, a wife or a mother. I was an American High School student,  my only job to Be Taught, to Learn. And I don’t remember hearing much about Rwanda in school. Do you? Quite honestly, I had to Wiki it to refresh my memory. I knew it had something to do with Africans killing Africans, but I didn’t know much more than that.  This bothers me.

It bothers me a whole lot. Why, when I was a high school student with a sponge-mind absorbing every last drop of whatever it was immersed in, was Rwanda just a bullet-point to be skimmed over? With such an epic moral and political and human rights drama being played out on the world stage right in front of us, why didn’t my Poli-Sci teachers – my Bible teachers for Christ’s sake – say “PUT DOWN YOUR TEXTBOOKS AND LOOK AT RWANDA!”

Admittedly, in 1994 I was more concerned with watching 90210 than World News Tonight, so I might have just missed the whole Rwanda thing in favor of the “Donna Martin Graduates” episode. Sigh. This speaks to the fact that mine is an American generation that has been cushioned and culturally spoon fed from the very beginning. If you’re reading this on my MySpace blog and you got the whole Donna Martin reference you’re most likely of the same generation.  How is it that we know more about Donna Martin than Rwanda?

Fast forward 14 years. Donna Martin finally graduated. Rwanda is finally rebuilding. And 90210  is back. But there is a new cast of high school students. I can’t wait to see what happens.

What Do Women Want?

I posted this link when I was in the thick of my research on Female Orgasm for my short-lived sex toy empire. More on that later.

An amazing research-based article on Female Desire in this week’s NY Times magazine. A must read.

Christmas Dinner 2.0

I wrote this one last December too. And this post really captures the spirit of that day. I remember the day well, and it was as warm and fuzzy as it sounds. I’m hoping for an equally pleasant holiday this year.

Christmas Day has come and gone. All went well and all were happy. Today is Christmas 2.0 in Meadville with The Hub’s Clan, who have long since become MY clan as well and not just by marriage but by an odd and humorous convergence of the family tree that is difficult to diagram without specialized genealogy software.

Christmas here is fun and laid back. We are awaiting the yearly convergence of the far-flung. I’m currently on my second JD and coke, listening to turkey pop and hiss in the oven. We’ve just finished a multi-generational discussion on the importance of church/state separation and now The Hub is walking dogs in the rain. Grandpa is watching an advance copy  of Soderberg’s Che movie on the Mac. Grandma is haggling me about my newfangled Turkey cookin’ skillz. Boys are playing with power tools. All is as it should be, and I am warm and happy.

The Christmas that Wasn’t

I wrote this last December. I’m dealing with Xmas a little better this year.

December again and I don’t feel very Christmas-y. Maybe that’s because this is the year that I think I finally lost my faith, religion, whatever you want to call it. I got all kinds of introspective about it round about the middle of the year. I spent months and months going over it all afresh, everything I’ve been taught to believe, this whole doctrine of Christianity trying to find some magic bullet Bible verse that makes it all jibe with what is logically, tangibly, provably true and good. Turns out, there’s just not much there bolsters a case for faith. Turns out that more than providing answers and truths, the Bible has provoked questions and exposed itself as contradictory. Turns out that actively, critically thinking about faith and religion it has proven to be its very undoing in my mind.

So this is my first Christmas season as an Agnostic and it feels a lot different. Being certain of things for so many years was easy and comforting and required very little of me. Fessing up to Not Knowing is sorta scary. It requires that I read and research and write and in short, do a lot of mental and spiritual leg work. It requires that I think and I’m not used to that.

I’m not the “Tear Down the Manger Scene this X-mas” type, so I will wish a Merry Christmas to all of those who believe and find comfort in the story.

Wanted: Friends

So some gals post personal ads for boyfriends when they’re unsatisfied with the current state of their romantic relationships right? Well I’m posting a personal ad for friends. There, I’ve said it. I’m trolling for friends. Not like “casual encounters” friends cuz I’m all stocked up in the sexual satisfaction department. Just plain old friends. Just a few good acquaintances who could turn into good friends if all goes well. Not because I’m currently desperately friendless and alone, holed up in the dark with internet porn or anything like that. No, no. I’ve got plenty of acquaintances and a few really good friends. It’s just that my friends and I have always sort of been on different pages in le livre de vie. When my peers were in college and reveling in all things Frat Boy and Spring Break-y, I was home raising babies and reveling in all things Barney. But now that my babies are getting older (12 and 10 respectively) and my social life is becoming viable again, all my friends have decided to up and have babies. I stayed in when they went out. Now I want to go out and they’re staying in. I’m only 31 and 31 is far to young to be feeling the pinch of limited social options.

I’m not looking to get back to the aforementioned Frat Boy era of yesteryear. In fact, I thank my lucky stars I missed all that. I’m just looking for some mellow chicas to hang with on occasion. I’m actually quite fun, or so I’ve been told. Here’s a bit about me: I read a lot. I write, though not nearly as often as I should. I really want to play with papier mache and paint. I’m learning to knit. I’m not fancy or high maintenance. I’ll never own a Coach Bag. I am of the unwavering opinion that Thick is the new, improved, jucier and far more delicious version of thin. I’m bringin’ sexy back. I’m in the throes of a love/hate literary relationship with Henry and Anais. I spend many, many hours bowlside playing Bettie/Skate Momma. I heart classic pin up girls. I love New York. I hate L.A. I only wash my hair once a week because the dirtier it gets, the cuter it looks. Sometimes I play dress up when I have the house to myself. I’m not really tech-y. I can play approximately 6.5 chords on a guitar. I have some blessed, new-found free time with which I’d like to do something socially and spiritually relevant, but – alas – to date I’ve been only a Slacktivist: all idea(l)s, no legs. I’m no good at mincing words. I’m no good at dancing but I dont’ let it stop me. I drink my PBR straight from the pounder can. Even before it was trendy, I had a thing for scarves. I’m a good Momma and my kids are good kids. I’m a good little wifey and my hub’s a great guy. My jokes are laced with wit and sarcasm. I smoke more than I ought to. There is no blouse on earth that can contain my cleavage so I’ve given up trying. I love camping. I like Scrabble, but I loooooove Upwords. I never remember the rules to card games. I never remember album/artist names. Tattoos make me happy. And so on, and so on, ad nauseum.

I’m looking for a compatible Pittsburgh-based female with whom to share some or all of the following: Happy Hours , Knitting Circles, Free Movies in the Park with kiddos, babysitting duties, bread recipies, occasional saturday nights out with our significant others, bad jokes, good books, ridiculous anecdotes on motherhood/housewifery, funny youtubes, 80′s night dance-till-you-sweat-a-thon’s, camping trips, beers and board games on the porch, a hand to squeeze when getting inked etc. Oh, and smart conversation, too; I like my women all nice and educated-like (but you must not condescend to me for opting to be Stay Home Momma for the time being. Oh, and you also can’t tsk-tsk me for being kinda Tits Out sometimes because, if you’ve been paying attention you’ll remember what I said about the cleavage.)

If this sounds like you, drop me a line. We’ll go on a Girl Date!

 

Call Me a Brag Hag if you will…

… but, man, my kid is too smart for his own good. He’s NINE. And he doodled this.

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Kid is Eleven now. Still too smart for his own good. And apparently, he’s got a prophetic socio-political bent. Notice the big fierce fish who’s swallowing up everything is named “Economy.”

Breakfast, Schmreakfast

Since I’m all Stay-at-Home Momma again, I’ve been reveling in getting my Domestic on. This morning I woke up early to prepare a fancy sit down family breakfast. On a school day. I’d baked a loaf of bread the day before. That’s right. Baked it. Myself. I wanted to put it to use before it went stale. So I made those lucky, loved, looked-after boys Vanilla French Toast on a school day and felt damn smug about it too. Can you say June Freakin’ Cleaver?

The Wee One opted out of the French Toast Festivities and chose Corn Pops instead. And The Eldest refused to sit at the table and instead sulked up the stairs with his plate, dripping a trail of syrup the whole way.

Rhetorical question: is it ever okay to call your kids Douchebags?

Harumph.

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See. Originally written in June of 08, just a month after becoming Stay at Home Mom. And already I was cranky.

It’s Just a Phase

I’m currently reading The Wall Between Women: The Conflict Between Stay-at-Home and Employed Mothers by Beth Brykman. Having experience on both sides of The Wall, I find myself relating to quite a few of the women featured in the book. I’m comforted to know that one of the main issues I’m struggling with after the Big Opt Out is an issue common to Opter-Outters, as this passage from The Wall relates:

“About one month after stopping my occupation, I spent the whole day cleaning and straightening up the house. when my husband arrived home, I asked him ‘Did you notice what I did today?’ I had to justify my existence. He had always understood my conversations regarding major presentations at the office, but when I tried to explain this cleaning the house thing, why it was so important, it seemed almost pitiful to me. This was now my job. The more I tried to explain it to him, the more embarrassed I got.”

*Author’s Note: I don’t’ mean to suggest that I related to this passage because my husband doesn’t notice stuff. He does. He’s awesome at noticing and praising little things and for that reason, among a million others, he’s earned The Most Enlightened Husband award.* But I completely relate to the woman’s feeling of needing to justify her At Home Existence. Needing to prove that she does something worthwhile. In a post-feminist world, it’s sometimes hard to argue that housewifery is an altogether worthwhile pursuit without issuing some sort of justification for it.

I’m feeling that need to justify my existence now more than ever, to my husband, to my kids, and to myself. Just this morning, for instance while waking the Wee One up leisurely with silly songs and tickles, I actually said out loud, as much to myself as to him: “This moment made possible by a Stay-at-Home Mom. If Mommy were busy getting dressed for work right now, we’d be totally stressed out instead of enjoying this moment. Right?! Right?! You like Mommy being home in the mornings, right? It’s important to you, right?! You’ll thank me for this someday, right?!?!” He looked at me like I was a silly little thing desperate for validation. Which is, in fact, exactly how I felt (but YOU love me anyway, right?? Right?!)

But interestingly enough, I’m just as worried about justifying myself to other women. In her book Brykman interviews women from both the Stay-at-Home and Employed sides of The Wall. A perception shared by women on BOTH sides of the wall is the one that Stay-at-Home women are less interesting, have less substance to them than working women. Stay-at-Home women admitted to being often embarrassed by the label, and Working Women admitted to finding Stay-at-Home women unfit for intellectual camaraderie.

Now I realize that this feeling of needing to justify myself is a phase, a natural reaction to relinquishing my Real Job Title and thereby a piece of my identity. Before, when asked “What have you been doing lately?” by a besuited friend at a post-work Happy Hour, I had an interesting answer that involved power lunches, PhD programs and Portugal. But now What I Do, while far more important, is construed by many as far less interesting.

Now this might be the “silly little thing desperate for validation” in me talking, but I don’t want to be construed as LESS anything, especially less INTERESTING now that I spend a large portion of my day folding laundry. Well, go ahead and consider me less paid because that’s too true, but aside from this whole Identity Crisis thing going on, my brain works just as well as before, thank you very much! I’m still interesting! If you don’t’ want to talk about my husband and my kids, we can talk about something else, really! I read WAY more books than I had time to when I was “working.” Hell, never mind the family, lets talk about books! And I write more now too! Let’s talk about what I’m writing, shall we? And now I have time to listen to music! Let’s talk about the new Vampire Weekend album, cuz I’m loving it. Or how about the upcoming elections, I’ve got lots to say about THAT. See. I’m just as interesting as before. I just don’t wear suits as often. And I don’t have a business card anymore. Or, oh yeah, a paycheck either. But you still love me right?????

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This post was originally written in May of ’08, just as I was settling in to stay at home mommy-hood and tryind desperately to convince myself it was a good idea. Like I said, I’m back to work now.  And my kids are quite functional, too.