Routine deal. I go to the bathroom, pee in my cup, write my name on it, leave it for the nurses. I return to purple stirrupland. I park my bare bottom. I drape the paper sheet and make the required tent. My ob/gyn does the obligatory knock, then enters immediately, so if I had been stark naked and making bumprints on the window, she wouldn’t have missed the show one bit.
Continue Reading 42 comments May 8th, 2008
“It’s like a Christmas tree for spring,” I said. “We could decorate it, with lights.”
She nodded.
“Yeah,” said Sophie. “Let’s.”
Another plan. Small steps.
Continue Reading 39 comments May 6th, 2008
The vision receded in time. It took its leave for good when the girls arrived on the scene and rewrote my life plan in crayon scrawls and lipsticked walls and princess squealing. Still, sometimes I wonder who those little boys were, who was on the phone, how I knew I was alone, that my sons were solely my responsibility. I wonder whom they went to, which mother has those handsome little guys now. I do feel like they are out there somewhere—change of plans, sorry, fellas, you’re headed to Cleveland—although this is a silly thing to admit. But my charm lies in admitting the silly things. Someone has to. So.
Continue Reading 24 comments May 4th, 2008
And so I will keep praying on my knees in puddles of dirty mopwater and diluted Pine-Sol. I will clean house, and look for guidance behind the dishwasher, and in the grime and crayon stains of several years’ of family togetherness on the legs of the kitchen table. This is the only way I know how to proceed.
Continue Reading 21 comments May 2nd, 2008
…to want to turn them into Olympic figure skaters?
Moving to Detroit to live near an ice rink and a fur-hatted Russian coach sounds like such a pleasant change of pace right now.
I’m tired of all this me, me, me. When do I get to make it all about them, them, them and dress them up in fabulous sequins and tell them Mommy cries because there are no Olympic medals in the house?
I mean, really. It’s not like I promised to love them unconditionally or…crap. There it is, right there in the fine print, under the part about not letting them do lines of Splenda off $100 Monopoly bills. Damn!
20 comments April 28th, 2008
I wonder what they will recall of this time, if the sadness of their mama will seep into them somehow, although I have tried to address it head-on, heart-on, soul-on. It is no secret, and I hope that is good, or at least all right, if not good.
I want to come home. I want to feel at home in this body, in this house, in these roles, but it all keeps changing.
Continue Reading 47 comments April 23rd, 2008
I am creative in limited arenas. Children’s birthday party planning is not one of them. So I freak out. Consistently. By midnight I am always scary-wide-eyed and scrubbing frantically and asking David how early is too early to have a glass of wine the next day. As always, despite everything, he indulges me and says there’s nothing wrong with a birthday nip of white wine at 10 am.
Continue Reading 35 comments April 18th, 2008
Sophie, March 2, 2005: “I have a fun life.”
Hattie, April 16, 2008: “I like being myself.”
Where’s the lipstick? Does anyone actually write on the bathroom mirror with lipstick? I might start. These are pretty good mantras. I hope they hang on to that spirit as long as they can.
Unless, you know, Tom Cruise taught them. They have actually been jumping on the couch more often these days. Hmm. No more Oprah for them.
9 comments April 16th, 2008
Love and care do not disappear lightly. That is a stroke of grace, a visit from Wisdom. I go forward. He goes forward. I help him into his position for the night, bring him his medicine, and then I retire in Sophie’s room. This is difficult, if not impossible, to explain. So I say this not to explain. I say it just to say that Wisdom appears in funny guises, and whenever she has any say in it, she chooses kindness to teach her lessons.
I cry often, but I am grateful for her. Kindness is certainly not all, but it goes a long way. I need walking companions, after all. It will be a long hike.
Continue Reading 39 comments April 11th, 2008
Right, so, there’s a lot I could ask you about at the moment. But today I want to know one thing and one thing only:
Is Fergie (not the Duchess) really singing “FLOPSY, FLOPSY” in the song “Glamorous”?
I already took my “broke-broke” home. In fact, I take my “broke-broke” home every single day, Fergie, and I managed to figure out what you were singing about there, but what is this Flopsy, Flopsy of which you speak?
Do I need it? Do I want the Flopsy, Flopsy? Wasn’t Flopsy the gloating sister of Peter Cottontail? What are you doing with her, Fergie?
Yes, when I am troubled, deciphering things like Flopsy, Flopsy become deeply important to me. Help. Help.
26 comments April 7th, 2008
Get it while it's hot and bothered!