The “Myth” of Sisyphus

My favorite myth, is the myth of Sisyphus. Why, I do not know, as it is a terrible one.

Sisyphus, if you aren’t familiar with that myth, tries to outsmart Zeus and as his punishment he has to push a boulder up a hill, only to have it roll back down as soon as it gets to the top.

Well, Sisyphus…I have no sympathy for you. This is what I do. Every. Single. Day.

Today, I stay at work later than usual to get things done. The bus, of, course, comes earlier than usual, so I’m racing home on shoulder of my street, seeing the stopped bus lights and picking up my kid from the neighbor. Fail. I keep trying balance work and home and the kids and doctor appointments, much to the detriment of everyone’s lives. I feel like a master of nothing. Every day I’m forced to do this.

When I knew I was going to have Lightning, I was super excited. I was excited and surprised with Thunder. But no matter how carefully you plan, you can’t plan for an almost 3-year-old crying when you have to go to work, and crying when he has to leave your office. You can’t plan for the only available doctor’s appointment for your son to be at the same time that you have to be at the doctor for tests of your own. You can’t plan seeing the school bus stop 3 cars in front of you, completely sending your 5-year-old into a tailspin. Every day…pushing the rock up the hill, only to roll back down again. Granted, you may get a break every once in a while. Sometimes, I get to go out and have drinks and not have to worry about…everything. However, that boulder shows up again next the morning, when I remember that my children and husband are exceptionally loud and like to ring bells and blast rock music when I’m “under the weather”…

Ok-so I’m pushing the rock up the hill every day. But what’s the alternative? Letting it roll over me? Giving it to someone else?

No, sometimes you just have to keep pushing. Even when the labor sucks.

Mother, Will They Try to Break My Balls

I’m discovering as the days go by, that I am continuously ill-prepared for parenthood.  Every day is a crap shoot, but I can’t let the kids know that I have no idea what I’m doing.  If they smell fear, I believe they may attack.

The first issue that I’m having is school.  Lightning’s teacher sent home a speech evaluation, and then we spoke at length about his speech issues.  He has a tongue-thrust issue, can’t say some sounds and has some other speech patterns that are not severely problematic, but need to be corrected.  Unfortunately, since they don’t appear to be hindering him in the classroom, he can’t go through the school for them.  We have to go through private insurance to get this resolved.  Apparently the speech teacher is only there part-time, and the district probably won’t agree to services.  We’re working through alternatives now, but I’m really frustrated that  I can’t seem to get what I need.

The other problem is bullying.  Just today, a little girl who I will call “Roberta” punched and hit Lightning.  This is not the first time someone has called him a “baby” or pinched or hit him.  I’ve been trying to teach him that he just should walk away or tell a teacher, and that’s what he has been doing.  But inside, I’m cringing.  I started getting bullied in the second or third grade.  It didn’t stop until I graduated high school.  My heart is going to break if I have a kid that people pick on.  Every time he tells me a story I remember how I used to have to run home because the kids would throw tennis balls at me.  One time, a kid actually threw a bicycle at me.  How do you tell your kid to walk it off, when inside you want to tell him to start kicking butt before he gets his butt kicked?  How do you mask your own pain whenever your kid tells a story?

Only 15 more years of this to go.  I better put on my big girl pants and suck it up because these kids are wearing me down!

24 hrs. No Facebook.

Yesterday, at 9 am.  I had an event.

I realized that I have a FB problem.  (FB, meaning the addictive Facebook).  I mainly used FB to get me through my time when Thunder was a baby…that’s when I became super-active.  On 1o/4/2011, I realized that I have a serious problem with Facebook, and that it needs to stop.  Now!  I’m a serial messenger/commenter/updater.  The only way to do this was to quit.  Cold turkey.  For 24 hrs, this junkie gave up Crackbook.  Here’s an account of how I survived:

23 h 30 m left to go: Starting to twitch.  Could be the coffee.  Want to share U2 song through Jango update.  Wait-everyone knows I like U2 anyway.  And no one cares.  More on.

23 h 10m left to go: Kids are sick.  Both of them.  Thinking about posting and venting/complaining and getting advice about how to stay healthy so I can go away this weekend.  Hmmm…maybe I’ll check the internet instead

22 h 40 m.  Need to do some inconspicuous venting.  Not going to happen.

21 hrs left to go.  Music is helping me.  Loving me some Adele right now.

18h 29 m.  Our company website is live-blogging from a town meeting.  I want to share .  Can’t happen.  I’m also aggravated about a few more things.  Nope….can’t share!

17 h 36m  Really hard not to go on.  Started thinking about the world I’m missing.  For some reason, it resembles a HS cafeteria with the Pink Floyd time playing in the background.  (Updated note-Was I hallucinating???  No-just probably need more coffee).  I’ve started thinking about all of the notes I want to write on my blog.  This shifted my thoughts to a potential writing piece based on something that I saw on the morning, which lead to the potential development of 1-3 characters (Updated note-It actually led to 4 characters).  Gee-I haven’t written any pieces in forever and this past week I managed to bang out a couple of pieces/ideas.  Now more ideas?

15h 25 min left.  The DH has decided to go on.  Great.  He’s commenting and laughing at other peoples statuses.  He NEVER goes on.  I’m ready to lose it.  I have to leave the room.

12 h 30 min out.  I’m scanning my library of books into Goodreads app.  Ok.

12 h Out.  I decide to sit down and write.  And I write.  And write.  For 2 hrs.  Somehow, for the first time in almost…well, I have no idea…it’s been so long…I’m writing again.  Really writing.  

The next morning, I stay off.  And although my 24 hrs was up at 9 am, I didn’t go on again until around 3 pm.  I made it a day and a 1/4 with no Facebook.  For some, this is not an issue.  But for me, Facebook has become like what I imagine cigarettes are to some people.  I go in the morning, sometimes before I say “Good Morning” to my husband or kids.  I’m on a few times here and there during the day.  I read articles/comments from work, and share stuff as well that I’ve read.  Sometimes I’ll throw up a meaningful quote or some sarcasm.  I go on again at the bus stop.  I go on again before dinner…after dinner…sometimes during dinner.  I’m realized I was setting a horrible example for the kids and sometimes even ignoring them.  Don’t call CPS…I didn’t let them run with scissors or play in the oven, but I was being a shitty parent.  And despite what I tried, I couldn’t stop.  I even contemplated inventing a touch-screen for the steering wheel so I could see what was going on while driving…I’m not joking.

These 24 hrs. have been phenomenal.  They’ve shown me that #1-I can live without FB.  2-I lived without FB for many years before.  I can handle it in moderation.  I’d rather go back to my writing and reading, and the things that I love…that I’ve always loved.

I’m going to keep my relationship status as active.  I’m going to limit my time, even if I have to use a timer.  I’m going to treat myself like a 16 year-old with this thing.  I’m going to keep writing…some blogging.  I’m  going to go to sleep at normal hours.  And I’m going to try to spend more times doing things I want to do.

And if I can’t handle this…there’s always Words with Friends.

 

Rocktober 2011

September was a terrible month.

Kindergarten was a huge adjustment, even bigger than I had thought.  We had to put our cat to sleep.  I was still coming off of the stress from dealing with hurricane, having our anniversary plans ruined, and it was a very stressful month at work.  Other than a few bright spots towards the end of the month, nothing came together.  This is why I have high hopes for October.

Here are a couple of October highlights:

My kids aren’t babies anymore.  Sure, they’re still little and require some degree of care, but I’m not nursing, feeding or birthing any of them.  If I can get one of them to use the toilet, things will be golden.  They can now play independently (with minimal head-butting and spitting) and they are finally adjusting to school.  We survived the first dramatic month of Kindergarten, and now are ready to go through the rest of the year.

I’m going away this month.  Finally, a girls weekend away with one of my best friends.  First time ever for us.  We’re going to Boston and Salem.  It should be fun, and a well deserved vacation.  We also have a couple of great parties coming up at the end of the month.

Beer.  Since my husband started brewing beer, I have found a new interest in drinking craft beers.  October is a great month to discover what’s out there & what’s good.  Plus I think they should have a new batch ready soon.  October also reminds me of Oktoberfest celebrations and the awesome time I spent in Germany.

Lets not forget all the fall agritainment crap of apple/pumpkin picking and corn mazes.  Not always the biggest fan, but I’m going to enjoy doing that stuff with the boys.  I also have a love hate relationship with Halloween costumes.  My kids never want to be anything normal like Spiderman or Batman.  This year they want to be mobile cranes.  This requires me to make their costumes again, and I’m the least crafty person in the entire universe.  They’ll be crying, aggravation and overall annoyance, (Mommy-not the boys) but in the end the kids will have their freakin costumes.  You’re welcome.  We also have good costumes planned for the Halloween party we go to every year.

I also have a big goal this month.  I’m about 10 lbs away from my goal weight and I would like to get there this month.  I feel like  I can do it and I’m up for the challenge.  With all of those crazy stresses out of the way and my renewed outlook on life, I’m ready to put everything into it.  And I think I can do it despite crazy people throwing pretzels, cheeses and beer my way.

October also holds football, sweater weather and hot drinks.  I’m really psyched about this month and for the first time in a long time feel truly relaxed and happy.

So Rocktober, I want you to bring your A game.  I know you won’t disappoint.

Help! I’ve been Harper Valley-ed!

Ok-before I start this, you need to know a couple of things about me.

1-I generally hate large groups of people.  They make me uncomfortable, they make me sweat and I just hate it.  I always feel like everyone’s looking at me, and I’m always paranoid that when I bend over, people can see my underwear.   Yes, I probably need some kind of drug or support group, but it ain’t happening.  Moving on…

2-I generally hate women and women-like activities.  I hate underwear shopping, and most forms of shopping for that matter.  I am not a fan of high fashion, celebrities (unless they are male, over 50 and either in a rock band or a nerdy TV show) and makeup.  Manicures, pedicures and most massages are akin to torture.  I heard a radio commercial today about a “man cave” that included a bean-bag chair, a beer helmet and a 47″ TV and said “Why does this have to be a man cave?  I would live there.”  I wear dresses when the DH forgets to put my laundry in the wash.  I’m about as girly as a pair of boxers.

That being said, I went to my first PTA meeting tonight.  . I wanted to go to do this for my kids and to push myself out of my comfort zone. I had no idea what to expect.  I thought I did, but until you go, you can never be prepared.  Here’s what I’ve learned:

#1-Unless you’re a man, you have to look like you’re going to a country club luncheon.  Going in chicken-pot-pie crusted capri jeans, an oversized sweatshirt and rhinestoned Keds is not cool.  (Hmmm…probably not cool in any social setting).  Had I put on makeup, it may have helped, but highly doubtful.  Really should start using that mirror before I leave the house, and use the mantra, WWBVD?  (What would Bree Vandekamp do?)

#2-It’s like high school with older people.  You have the snobs, the jocks, the preps, the cheerleaders, the debate team and maybe a nerd or two.  Since my high school career was a combination of Daria, Ally Sheedy from the Breakfast Club and Winona Ryder in Heathers, I feel like I was just as successful at fitting in now as I was in high school.

#3-Most importantly…it is extremely important.  Seriously.  Tonight, I learned about the bond vote for the Riverhead School District.  I learned that all 7 schools in the district are in stages of disrepair and overcrowding.  I learned that the Kindergarteners (my son included) are eating lunch at 10:30 am because the cafeteria is too small to hold more than one grade at a time.  I learned that most of the reason why these votes fail is because of a lack of parent support.  I learned that there are so many ways you can support your school that are simple and easy.  These people, these PTA moms (and dads) are the people that make good things happen.  They care.  They raise questions.  They push.  They want whats best for their kids.  Now in those respects…I’m not so different.

Ok-so I’m not a fashion plate.  I’m not a girly-girl.  Other women bug the crap out of me.  I like beer, and football and playing video games.  But I also love my kids, and if this is what I have to do to help them, I’ll “Suit Up”, suck it up and go to the meetings.  I might even throw on some lipstick.

When Life Was “Simple”

This past week, we put our beloved cat, Abe to sleep.  He had been sick with diabetes for a long time, and we all fought the good fight as long as we good.  We will miss his breakfast on the table, his mousing skills, his “swatty paws”and the laziness that came with his 26 lb girth.  No other cat will ever take his place.

We got Abe from the shelter, when we had our favorite apartment in Cutchogue.  It had uneven floors, a great fake fireplace and a quote about love and books over the mantel.  He was our first “baby” and I started thinking about all of the good times we had at the apartment and how much I miss them.  From the time we got Abe, 2 months after we moved in, the planning and execution of our wedding, to the realization that we would need to move out after I took my 6th  pregnancy test (apparently the first positive wasn’t enough…), the apartment served us well.  I wish I didn’t have all of these regrets…

I regret the time I lost my mind, and left my engagement ring on the table with a note.  Imagine my horror when I found out the reason why my husband was late from work was because he was working on a page for the scrapbook my bridesmaids gave me for my shower gift…

I (sort of) regret the day that I played the Legend of Zelda for 20 hrs straight.  I wish I could apply that dedication to other aspects of my life, but no dice.  Zelda and I go way back, and part of me secretly wishes I could pull off something like that again.

I regret the time I pulled the plug on our computer after watching the DH play Civilization III for hours.  It wasn’t one of my finer moments, and I usually show a lot more respect to electronics.  He hasn’t pulled the plug on Facebook or Words with Friends yet, though I kind of feel like he should.

So many hours wasted.  Hours that  I wish I could have back.  Hours that I’ve now given to work and kids and having meals on the table by 6.  Hours that I could have spent talking to my husband instead of yelling down the hall “You still alive in there?”.  I spent about 2 minutes married without children and that’s my biggest regret.  If I could have had the exact same kids a couple of years later, I would have done that.  I would have spent more time listening to my husband’s stories instead of just pretending.  I might have gone on a vacation with him that didn’t involve brightly colored rides.  I would have learned to cook more exotic dishes than macaroni & cheese with hot dogs, chicken nuggets and what he affectionately calls “mustard slop”.

In the past 10 years we’ve said “Hello and Goodbye” to a lot of different people, places and things.  Saying goodbye to Abe was more than just saying goodbye to a cat.  He was part of the jigsaw puzzle that makes up our quirky life.  And although I will miss him terribly, I can say that I have no regrets when it comes to the time I spent with him.

 

 

Battle of the Bands

As many of you know, there’s an ongoing battle in my house of who is the better band-U2 or Def Leppard.  This situation will never be resolved, but as I was listening to my Jango station, I started thinking about why I like the music I do, and the moments that took bands out of my life for good.

The first band I remember liking was Guns n Roses.  I was 14.  There was something wonderful about that red-headed badass, and for a while, I thought I could be him.  I wore the flannel tied around my waist.  I belted out “Welcome to the Jungle”. I longed for high top sneakers that said Axl.  I actually remember nicknaming my reform-school “badass” boyfriend Axl, even though he didn’t look anything like him.  I remember when he broke up with me, I would listen to “Don’t Cry” and “November Rain” over and over again.  I’m surprised that I still like Guns n Roses as much as I do, but some things are just hard to give up.

Other bands haven’t been so hard.  I’ve suffered through periods of Heavy Metal & Country Music.  I’ve been suckered into Kenny G and Snow.  During my junior year, I was on a Jazz kick, when my boyfriend at the time insisted on playing his saxophone on the phone for hours.  He was good, but I’m glad he wasn’t an Opera singer.  I can no longer listen to Alice in Chains or Skid Row’s “Quicksand Jesus”, thanks to some particularly painful times.  I remember at one point, my anthem was Soul Asylum’s “Runaway Train”, trying to escape all of this nonsense.

At some point in time during this madness, I acquired Achtung Baby.  I don’t remember how, but for some reason I think it has something to do with a box of tapes that I found in the woods next to my house.  U2 was mixed in with the Wayne’s World Soundtrack and Arrested Development.  Achtung had come out in 1991, and it was 1992, the most miserable year of my life.

I remember falling in love with every song on the album.  I remember the cover, the videos.  I remember going to get the CD when the tape was eaten by my overworked radio.  I remember having that CD for a long time.  I remember holding the wedge-sized chip when he broke the CD.  Soon after that, I remember disappearing, and all of the tapes & CD’s I had being stolen from me.

After I recovered from the insanity, I spent some time in Germany where I fell in love with German punk bands.  Not very popular among the 16-year-old American set at the time.  I listened to other things here and there, but didn’t feel passionately about any music.  Fast forward to 1997, and the class that changed my life.

The story of how I got into the class is an entirely different entry, but here I was coming out of the 5 worst years of my life…of anyone’s life, and it was like nothing I had ever seen.  The professor was crazy, but the good kind of crazy…the kind of crazy that drives you to do and think more than you ever have in your life.  The class was Irish Literature, and every day he would play a different piece of Irish music.  One day he played “Sunday, Bloody Sunday.”  I had never heard of the Troubles or cared about the political importance of music.  I really didn’t care about anything at that point except my own bullshit.  Something changed in this class though…and I became passionate about reading and writing and everything that had to do with Irishness and Literature.  It was good to feel something again.

I blurred in and out over the next few years, but another relationship brought me back to music.  I bought my first guitar and learned ( and since forgot) how to play “All I Want Is You”.  When things dissolved, all I had was a guitar, two chords a and a renewed passion for a band that would never take a backseat again.

I think if you really are a fan of something, a die-hard fan, there has to be some kind of story.  Maybe you were having a shitty day back in 1981 and heard “Don’t Stop Believing”.  Or maybe you got high and did the whole Wizard of Oz/Dark Side of the Moon trick.  I don’t know.  That’s why I get so defensive when people make fun of me for liking U2 as much as I do.  If  you’re a huge fan of anything, you know exactly when you became a fan and you will suffer through bad seasons, bad games and bad albums because the story means so much more.

 

I’m Sorry. What?

I woke up this morning, and actually had the urge to write something!  I say this somewhat sarcastically, because I never have time to write anymore.  With two small kids, and working 36 hrs/week, I have trouble finding the thought capacity to formulate sentences.  When I do have time, I spend most of it trolling around on Facebook or challenging my tech-savvy friends to Scrabble games.  I don’t always use my time wisely, but  I think it’s just because I’m on overload all the time.

The funny thing is, I don’t have anything to write.  I’ve already exhausted all of the topics.  My husband is starting a new business venture and my sons are both starting school (Kindergarten and Preschool), and I feel like I’ve covered these topics extensively.  I’ve been working on my anger management stuff again, so I don’t think going over that is worth it at this point.  (It’s still a work in progress…).

Maybe I’m just envious because I have nothing going on.  My job has been the same for about 11 years.  Everyone in my house is starting something new in September…except for me.  I think I’m just envious and wanted to start something too.  I guess…I don’t know.  Hopefully it keeps up…and hopefully I come up with something…

 

Help! Someone else is raising my children!

Ok, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit, but some days, it certainly feels that way.

Every day, T&L go to my parents.  L was 2 months old.  T was 3.  They are there 6 hrs a day.  I see them for about 4 hrs a day.  The rest of the time they are sleeping/dreaming/plotting.   Don’t get me wrong, my parents are amazing grandparents and caregivers, particularly my father.  I think they do a phenomenal job and they love being their caregivers.  We fight sometimes, but we all have the boys’ best interests at heart.  And they don’t put up with nonsense, which works for me.  I’m a no-nonsense kind of gal myself.

Here’s my issue.  We’re approaching the big K for Lightning.  The 5-year-old right of passage.  It’s sink or swim, only instead this pool is big, yellow and filled with children, noise and the occasional odd smell or two .  None of us are ready for this.

Sure, I went online, looked at some teacher Eboards to get a jump on school supplies, picked out the perfect red backpack, practiced reading, writing and reasoning, got transitional books (Twas the Night Before Kindergarten) and did everything Mommy could do to get Lightning physically ready.  I’ve tried grappling with the fact that these 5 years have flown by, while I’ve spent most of the time in a cubicle.  I have pumped up Kindergarten for both of us, making it seem like it’s a combination of a U2 concert  and monster truck show.  And still I play over and over again the sound of the hydraulic squeak and the imagine of the little blond kid waving goodbye at the window.  I hear Stevie Nicks in my head “…even children get older.  I’m getting older too.”  It makes me sadder than I’ve ever felt before.

Dear Lightning, I hope that we have done the best job taking care of you.  I hope we’ve laughed enough, cried enough, made enough messes, rescued enough slugs, eaten enough ice cream, hugged enough, teased Thunder enough, read enough, gone to the park enough, and taught you enough about what it means to be a family.  Grammy & Pop-Pop, and Nana and Grandpa are more than your grandparents.  They have given us a home when we didn’t have one, cared for you when we had to work and supported us when we felt like you were alone.  All of your aunts and uncles have made you laugh, shown you cool and interesting things and loved you since before you were born.  And Daddy and I work so hard and do what we can to give you everything that we need.  Life will never be the same for any of us once you get on that bus, but  I hope that we have shown you how great life can be, and how your parents can’t be the only people that raise you.  You will learn so many new things, things that I can teach you and things that I can’t.  But just remember, like Little Llama…you’ll find out that you can love your family and school too.

Maybe other people are raising my kids…but I don’t think I’d have it any other way.

I Gave my Son a Creamsicle for Breakfast.

Yes, I did.

It was his 5th birthday. I used to think 10 was a big age…double digits, big kid status. Nope, it’s 5. 5 is a pretty big deal. 5 means Kindergarten. 5 means embarking on new journeys. 5 means being able to make your own peanut butter & jelly sandwiches. 5 means that you’re tall enough to ride the cool rides. 5 is pretty special.

Whenever one of the kids hits a milestone, I can’t help but think about myself as a parent. After 5 I found myself realizing that there’s a lot of “Mama Drama” out there, and I have unfortunately let myself become a part of it. As moms, we constantly strive to be the best parent out there, and it’s like pushing a rock up a hill. No one wants to yell at their kids in the store parking lot, to the chagrin of onlookers. But we do. No mom wants to go to a birthday party and be forced to leave with the biter/pincher/whiner. It happens. No mom wants to admit that they have to get in the shower to cry because they can’t handle their children. No mom wants to admit that there are days where they wonder what life would be like if they never had kids. No mom wants to admit that their kids drive them absolutely nuts. All of this happens.

Here’s my issue. We’re all trying to pretend to be Supermoms. The president of our families. We’re not supposed to screw up because if we screw up, even a little bit, the world will know that we failed. I freak out if my kids go to the store with cookie dribble on their shirts, not because I care, but because I care what other people are going to think about my parenting. The reality is that we’re all human. Mom is human too. In some (most?) cases Mom is juggling work and unruly children and trying to find her seat on the PTA. She may or may not have a boss that supports her endeavors. She may or may not have the cleanest house on the block. She may look like she’s got the whole package…cute kids, supportive husband, great everything. The reality of it is though that we’ve all felt alone, hurt & scared….or angry, frustrated resentful and bitter.

The sooner all of us moms realize that we really are all in this together and that it’s not a competition, we’ll be a lot better off. I think it will be a huge relief for all of us, like a collective Mommy sigh. Until we’re all on board and are willing to give up the illusions of continuity, clarity and knowing what the eff we’re doing, Creamsicles are only going to be for birthday breakfasts…or turned into a tasty beverage at TGIFriday’s (for the moms).