You can't say 'No'!

Tucking Fafa in for naps is getting harder and harder as the days go by.

Since the crazy schedule of the past two weeks totally threw her off, she has begun to fight the nap. However, I can fight harder. I'm older.

Lately, she won't even get into bed for a nap without a major meltdown. (I know, but I refuse to give up so easily)...So, I have started 'schnuggling' with her in bed to calm her down. I usually only do it at bedtime but it works so well then, I figure, what the heck? Right?

She loves it, I love it. We listen to her radio, chat and hug, read and play kissing games until she grabs her lovey, pops her thumb into her mouth and calms down. That's my cue to exit quietly and tell her to enjoy her rest.

The other day she says, "Mommy can you schnuggle just a little longer?" and of course I respond with ..."How can you say 'no' to a schnuggle?...Just one more song, then I have to go nap too..." (She's great with a warning! and when she thinks I need a nap, she's good with that.)

Now, every time I put her in for a nap...she says."Mommy, how can you say 'no' to a schnuggle?"

And I jump right in and schnuggle away.

How long do you think 'schnuggle time' will last until she is off on her own and not missing it....I think I'll take them as long as I can get them.

If I were stranded on a desert island...

RWA did a post about his favorite songs. I am trying to do one too. It is harder than I thought.

I love music, all kinds from rock to rap to classical. It is very difficult to just gather a few snippets especially when you like catalogs and catalogs of songs from all different bands. There are a few bands that are missing from my list, but I can't just pick one song from their library...So, in order to keep it short(er) and sweet(er)...here are the one's that stand out in my head when I think of "favorites".

Blood Pumpin' Tunes:

Bring the Noise Public Enemy, especially the one with Anthrax
I love the beginning: 'Bass, how low can you go?...'

Kinda I Want To Nine Inch Nails
Really anything from NIN but this one is attached to some great memories.

In Your Eyes Icon
To this day, I get goosebumps. The way Jerry Harrison sings "I think about the things that I've done wrong.." Chills I tell ya.

Angel With the Scabbed Wings Marilyn Manson
Gets my blood pumpin'. I love the drums in this one.

Symphony of Destruction Megadeth
This song always gets me going. I love the heaviness of the guitars.

Speak Queensryche
Anything from this band too..but this is the song that turned me on to them.

Mellow Tunes:

Across the Universe The Beatles.
There are too many to just pick one, but this one always gives me chills.

Grace U2 'It's the name for a girl, and it's also a thought that can change the world.'
C'mon, can't get better than that.

Fix You Coldplay
Who doesn't want to be fixed?

I Can't Make You Love Me Bonnie Raitt
I have always loved this song...I guess it's that unrequited love theme that gets me.

Lights Journey
This song captivated me and got me to learn all I could about the 'city by the bay'. Then I went to San Fran and fell deeper in love...

This is Shangrila Mother Love Bone
I am so in love with Andrew Wood. What a young life wasted. And it also brought about Temple of the Dog and Soundgarden..Two more of my faves too.

How Soon is Now The Smiths
Mesmerizing. Always love it. Then, I married a Smiths Freak!

Take it Back Pink Floyd
Just one of the many Floyd songs I love...this one brings me good memories.

Flowers in the Window Travis
Always makes me smile...

Catch the Moon Elizabeth Mitchell
Fa's favorite so of course, I cry whenever I hear it.

Too many to pick just one:

In Your Room Depeche Mode
Another band I totally love. You really can't eat just one.

The End The Doors
Love the speaking parts..."Mother, I want to..."

Rocket Queen Guns and Roses
Love the chorus of this song, always have.

Alone Lisa Loeb
A good mix of easy listenin' and Rockin' and Rollin'. Love her.

Addicted to That Rush Mr. Big
My all time favorite band...So name it, I love it. This is a nice taste of their style.

As Far as the Eye Can See TNT
Another all time Favorite...But I love When Tony Harnell sings "If your eyes could see what you mean to me..."

So, that's pretty much it in the smallest nutshell I could find.

What about you?
What songs would you totally need if you were stranded on a desert island?

Anger Management

Since the crying episode, Fa has been intolerable.

She is temperamental and angry and just impossible to deal with. She doesn't like anything, doesn't want to watch videos, go in the basement to play, roll play-doh, color, go to her Papa's house. Nothing.

It seems that she has been effected by that incident and can't seem to get over it. Or, it could be just a coincidence that that happened and her little mind is processing a bunch of new crap all at the same time and it scares her.

Everything scares her lately. The dark, the new side door we put in, the crazy noises like fire engines (that she used to get a kick out of) and especially the vacuum cleaner. That has always been her antagonist, but lately she cries about it when it's not even out. Yesterday, she was crying in her bed, during nap quiet time that she didn't want me to vacuum her up. I was sitting in the kitchen. The vacuum wasn't even around. But she dropped something down the side of her bed against the wall and she was afraid I'd vacuum it. (If only I vacuumed that often!)

And she's been having scary dreams almost every night. She doesn't wake up completely, but I hear her moaning and making noises in her sleep. It's weird because she doesn't wake up for us, she just moans and cries a little. Then, the next day, not a memory of it. She used to have night terrors often, so maybe this is her 3 year old version of them? I don't know.

She also seems like she's had just about enough of her mother and is gearing more toward her Daddy. (Can you say heartbroken?) She tells me to go away and that she wants Dog to be given away. But then in the next breath, she tells me it makes her sick when I go away. I can't even read her these days. She's one confused little lady.

I feel so badly that I can't find a way to help her. I know she's going through something. I just don't know what it is. I am at a loss. She gets so angry and she can't tell me why or how to express her feelings. She's testing all of her boundaries and finding out what is acceptable behavior and her process of discovery is killing me. I need to find a way to help her manage her feelings...sound familiar...Jesus we are one in the same! Maybe we need a break from each other for a while?

I understand that with all this work going on around our house, it has been difficult. We are on edge with different people traipsing through the house and I am not comfortable. And when Mommy's not happy...ain't no one happy! There's no diversion, we can't escape the mess and she needs to me stimulated and that hasn't been happening lately.

Oh, well...the day has begun. F is singing about her blueberry-filled doodie in her diaper and Mommy-duty calls. I hope we can make it through the day.

She hurt my feelings

Last night, when we were putting Fa to bed she got mad at me. She wasn't ready for bed and apparently, I didn't give her the "5 minute warning" as usual.

She told me to go away she doesn't need Mommy anymore.

I thought I was going to drop dead right there in the living room.

Then, she kept repeating it to BD who told her she was hurting my feelings.

She kept on.

I went upstairs, very sadly. I talked myself down and reminded myself that she's only three and she's mad and she doesn't mean it. I should teach her what to say instead of using 'hurting words' to tell me that she's mad. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was crushed. I was calm, but hurt deeply.

I thought I was okay and I would go in there and tell her I love her no matter what even if she doesn't like me right now...just like Parenting tells me to do. I heard her crying in her room and I couldn't just let her go to sleep without saying goodnight. BD was with her, but I needed to kiss her goodnight too. So, I opened her door and right away through all her tears, "I'm sorry I hurt your feelings Mommy!"

I lost it. I started crying and told her that she hurt my feelings and my heart was sad because she said she didn't want me anymore. I was bawling. She was bawling. We hugged and she kept apologizing and I kept telling her it's okay, but I was hurt by her words. I told her I loved her and nothing she could do would ever make me stop loving her. In that one hug, my heart was healed.

Part of me feels like I should have kept it together and been strong and explained how words hurt and given her other options. Then the other part of me thinks I did the right thing because she should see that she really hurt my feelings and the consequences of her actions were that I cried. I made sure to tell her that I love her no matter what but I really think she should know when she says something that hurtful.

What do you think?

Here's a question...

Thank you everyone for commenting on this one! I really still don't know what to do. And it seems you are all split on your decisions as well. Some of you are all for it while others are all for the privacy thing. At least you have helped me see that I am not the only one who thinks of these things. God, I love my internet friends.

I think I'm going to give BD his privacy and let Fa know that Mommies and Daughters can be in the bathroom together and Daddies and daughters don't. Unless it's inevitable...Ugh. Whatever. Everyone pees and poops right?
**********************************************************
Do any of you let your daughters watch your husbands pee?

I know. Get to the point. But BD and I have been questioning each other on what we believe. We are in agreement so I guess I am really questioning myself.

Fa cries whenever he goes into the bathroom. She watches me in there do just about everything so she wants to watch her dad too. But I say no. And so does he.

But, if she's gonna learn about pottying, shouldn't she see 'both sides'? It is a healthy part of life and everyone does it. I just think it's a little weird for her to see her dad's hay nanny nanny dangling in the breeze, no?

We are in a quandary. I don't want her to cry when he goes, I think it sends her the wrong message when he closes her out. I don't want her to think its a bad thing and I don't want her questioning in her three year old brain why Daddy is 'different' and she can't watch. Then again, I don't think she should see his thang hang. That might scar her for life....

Boys don't sit to pee so why should he? Or do they? If she sees that will THAT be sending the wrong message too?

Or should she just get over it and learn that Mommy's and daughter's do things like that together and Daughter's and Daddy's don't? Mommy's teach girls about pottying and Daddy's teach boys? I don't know.

I guess I grew up in a pretty liberal home. Dad walked around in his skivvies all the time. It was nothing to me. I saw him 'sitting' on the pot and all. And I was always in the bathroom with my Mother. So, that sort of stuff doesn't phase me. But BD grew up differently. His parents were quite secretive about bathroom habits. It was a private affair and something left for 'your eyes only'.

I never thought about it until this week when I noticed F crying every time BD locked her out of the bathroom. What to do?

Do you let your opposite sex children watch your bathroom habits?

Act your age.

At the time, I don't know what I was thinking. But, yesterday I decided to drive Fa and myself to Connecticut. Like, way out Connecticut, about a half hour past Yale. That's really, friggin' far from where I live.

I have a long-lost friend who lives there with her husband and two kids. We haven't seen each other in seven years but we exchange Christmas cards every year since the kids have been born. Her daughter is almost 8 and her son is almost 5.

We worked at the advertising agency together, all three of us. She was a graphic designer, He was a writer and I was the assistant to the studio manager then I became an account executive. All this was before I went back to school for my Master's in Reading and became a teacher.

Anyway. I drove our asses up to God's Country. I wasn't looking forward to it but it turned out to be a fantastic drive. Fa slept most of the time going and coming home. I had my iPod crankin' the cool tunes and my Starbucks Venti Cafe Mocha with Soy Milk. And F had her chocolate milk and her lovey. We were set. It was so nice to see my friend that the drive was really like nothing. Straight ahead. From door to door. So it seemed.

We got there early in the morning and stayed all day. F played with the boy until his big sister came home then, she played with BOTH kids! I was amazed by her show of confidence and bravery in this new situation. She started out digging into my shoulder, but warmed up almost immediately and went right into the basement with the boy to play. Not even a look back. I love that.

She talked to the kids and played and really enjoyed herself. Something I rarely see her do. Even in school. I really believe that she doesn't like kids her own age because they are immature. Not in a bad, uncivilized way. It's just that this is the age where they are learning to connect with others. And in the meantime, they yell and cry and and pull crap out of her hands and get in her grill and invade her space. Not because they are mean, but because they don't know any better. Yet.

Older kids already know the routine and are comfortable with the peer playtime exchange. The 3 year olds F knows are not sophisticated enough for that yet. They are still all about themselves and are not aware that others have feelings and a spatial awareness they may be lacking. It makes F very uncomfortable and unable to connect with them.

F has always had that 'get outta my space' attitude which lead to tantrums when someone invaded that space. She may have always been aware of a person's personal space but she wasn't always aware of how to keep her own space protected without crying. But I think she's getting it. Especially when she plays with older kids and they let her just be herself and treat her like a real person. Adults treat her like a baby who needs help with everything. And kids her own age are still learning how to interact. No wonder why she looks at me sometimes in school like "What the fuck is that asshole doing?"

F is more comfortable with older kids who can really play. I see it now. She is not weird or anti-social. She is merely starving for kids to play with that actually know how to interact and pretend and color and not invade her space with drooly faces and staccato movements and wobbly footing.

On yesterday's journey, not only did I get to see some old friends, I discovered that 'Mommy and Me' is filled with smaller and younger, 'just learning kids' where F needs to be involved with older, more mature kids who can bring her out of her shell and just let her be. I think she will enjoy school with kids older and more mature than where she is now.

After all, she is only acting her age.

The Crying Game

So I'm a little introspective this week. It happens.

I have been thinking a lot about different parts of my life and today I thought about the time when I gave birth to F. It didn't start out such a great relationship between me and her. The beginning was very rocky.

Being pregnant was the best thing ever. I never thought I'd enjoy it as much as I did. I was big and bulbous and I gained 60 ever lovin' pounds from eating McDonald's breakfasts every day and french fries every night. It was heaven. It was an excuse to not exercise and eat whatever I wanted. I was getting fat for a reason and I was growing a human friggin' being inside of me. The only thing I missed was my coffee and my wine. But it was a short tenure in the grand scheme of things so I put up with it.

I loved feeling her kick inside of me and hiccup and rattle around like a wild woman. It was pure joy. I never felt anything like that in my life and I loved it.

By the end of my pregnancy, I was ready. So I thought. I was all set for the new baby. I mean how difficult could she be? All she'll do is crap and eat and sleep a lot. Right? Wrong. But that's for another post.

At 39 weeks, I had high blood pressure so the doctor decided to induce me a few days early because he didn't want to risk pre-eclampsia or any other complication. I went into the hospital on a Saturday morning and I should have known that having a baby 5 days before Christmas didn't leave you with an abundance of hospital staff.

All in all the birth was amazing. I was induced at around noon and had her after one single push at 2:20 pm. I had plenty of Stadol and epidural to keep me cozy and happy and I really can't complain. After all, her head was already out when the doctor came in to check and see "how far I was"! He couldn't believe how far long I actually was. The nurse was at lunch and he had to have her paged. No one was ready for how fast she was born.

How fucking ever. I wasn't ready for what my body would look like a few hours post-partum. Why doesn't anyone tell you that you can't move very well after squeezing out a cantaloupe from a hole the size of a kiwi. Why on earth did no one tell me I'd have a fucking penis after I gave birth????? That's right. I had a penis. Dude. I'm not kidding. It was a penis. A penis. A large penis. Hanging. And hitting my legs as I struggled to walk to the bathroom. Walk to the bathroom to give the fucking nurse my obligatory ounce of urine. That's right. You want the truth. You can't handle the truth.

I had a penis.

I wish I had a camera. No. Not for the penis. But for my husband's face when he saw it for the first time. His mouth agape, asking the nurse if it was supposed to look that horrific. She thought we were overreacting. Then she looked at it. Her mouth agape, she called for the doctor. He assured me I was EXTREMELY swollen. (No shit sherlock). Agony can not even describe how it felt.

I'll never forget that month of recovery. Agony. I tell you. Sheer Horror.

I know all there is to know about the crying game, post partum.

Her hands are small, I know...

I was looking at F's hands the other day. I have always been fascinated by them. They are so small and perfect. When she was a newborn, I used to stare endlessly at her pinky nail. It was so tiny, yet so perfect. How did that happen? I will always be amazed, even as they grow.

Then, I thought about my mother's hands. I always loved her hands too. Strong and always manicured with colored nail polish. They held me with tender care but threatened when I misbehaved. They absorbed all my pain in one, fleeting touch, yet stood powerful in the face of danger.

As I was watching F play, I looked at my own hands helping her adjust a toy to her specifics. I remember when they were kid's hands. Small and soft. Like F's are now. I was always embarrassed by them because I bit my nails. So I made a New Year's Resolution when I was about 9 years old to stop. And I did. Now, I make sure they are manicured most of the time...But Mommyhood has a way with them. I only hope I can use them with tenderness for F like my Mother used them for me.

It makes me wonder, how my Mother kept her hands so soft all the time. She was a Stay-at-Home Mom (like me) with a penchant for cleanliness (uhm, not like me) so her hands must have been in water a lot. But they were indeed smooth and soft and caring.

I wonder if F will examine my hands like I examined my mother's? I wonder if she will think the same things of us as we grow together? I used to be attached to my Mother. We were together all the time, a lot like F and myself. So I was always watching her and analyzing the things she said and did. I took notes and use them to this day on myself about how a Mother should be.

Our hands may not be exactly the same but they serve the same purpose. They caress, they love and they discipline all in a split second. A daughter's hands become a mother's hands and a mother's hands become a grandmother's hands. They may not be together in the flesh but they are connected forever by reverence. Heart and soul connects us in spirit and our hands connect us with a single stroke. Forever.

I Remember You

Since I'm on the Mom topic. I feel I need to give some insight to her passing and to her past. For my heart's sake, I think I need to say this. Please, this is quite personal and I debated putting it out there, but I have to. (I feel better already...especially with all the friends that have come out to support me...thank you all!) If you aren't up to it...come back another day.

My Mom died of breast cancer when I was 17. I can't even tell you I remember the entire ordeal because I don't. I was too scared to live it at the time. I just assumed she'd get better. I didn't allow myself to hang around to watch the illness too closely. Besides, I was a self-absorbed teenager and at the time I thought I had better things to do.

I was dead wrong.

I regret not being there for her when she needed me. I regret not telling her how much I love her and wanted needed her to get better. I hope know she knows now how much I miss her.

I do remember some impossible to forget things. I remember her many surgeries to remove the cancerous tumors bombarding her breasts. I remember her refusal to have a mastectomy because it would take away her 'sexiness'. I remember the radiation treatments and chemo sessions that took away her soul and her hair. I remember that shower when she was crying because her hair was falling out in clumps. And the hair everywhere...I remember trying to tell her it didn't matter because she was so beautiful no matter what. I remember her wig and her hating it with a passion... so I drew a face on the Styrofoam head it rested on and by accident it resembled Kaity Tong.

I also remember the many hospital stays. The last one being the worst. The sounds she was making to struggle to breath and that cough. I'll never forget the cough. She was delirious toward the end and talking nonsense and I remember her calling out "Geronimo" more than once. We all giggled and teased her at the time but I didn't know then that that was her being called to the other side. I remember clear as day when I was leaving her bedside for the last time. I told her I'd be back later (who knows what I had to do) and kissed her and she told me I didn't have to come back. I thought she was crazy and I told her not to worry, I'd be back. I didn't know then that she knew she was dying and she didn't want me there to see it. I wish so badly I never left. I never saw her alive again. I regret that moment to this day.

I remember not wanting to go to the funeral but being told I'd regret it if I didn't go. I went. I hated it. But I'm glad I went. I'd hate to regret that too. There were a lot of things I didn't do back then being the stupid teenager I was. But I thought she was invincible. She never proved otherwise. She was tough and I thought she would beat it. But she gave up. She didn't want to fight it anymore. It was that tough. Unbelievable with her penchant for fistfights, I still can't believe she let it beat her. The only fight in her life I think she ever lost was the battle with cancer.

Why couldn't wouldn't she fight the cancer? I'll never understand. To this day I figure I'm destined to get it. If she lost fighting it, I just have no chance in hell...(BD would kill me if he knew I still feel that way) But how could a woman so strong in all aspects of her life be so weak with the most life threatening? Didn't she know I needed her desperately to survive?

Have I ever told you about the time she pulled a woman out of her car and beat her up because she cut my mother off under 'the El' in Long Island City? She totally yanked her ass out of her car and beat her to the ground. Two grown-men cops had to pull her off the woman lying on the street and my Mother still had the woman's thumb in her mouth. They had to yank the woman's hand away from her mouth like a rottweiler. Crazy woman! I still can't believe they didn't arrest her. I wasn't there. But the story lives in infamy within our entire family.

I remember after she died when people would tell me "I'm sorry for your loss." I wanted to snap their necks. I hated that phrase. I still do but I have softened with age and experience to accept it as no other way to express sorrow. My usual response was "Don't be. It's not your fault, you didn't kill her." That would totally throw people for a loop. But I was so angry and so rebellious because they didn't know what I was truly feeling. How could they deeply be sorry? The way I needed them to be. I know now that I am not the only one who has ever lost a parent and it is difficult for everyone and maybe people really do feel sorry for my loss because they have felt loss in their own lives. I understand that now. (My virtual friends here have taught me so much in so little time!)

I remember so much of my mother but then again those same memories are fading from my mind because they were so long ago. I can't believe it's been 18 years. I've spent more time without her than I have with her. I fear my life will parallel my Mother's and F's life will in turn parallel mine. I fear that I will also leave my daughter early because I am destined to get sick like Mom did. I was the same age when I had F that she was when she had me and when F was born I was worried I only had 17 years left with her...Unreasonable I know. But it's a genuine fear. I have a difficult time grasping that that concept may not be true. And I should be living my life to the fullest, but I am struggling. Hence the continuous verbal regurgitation.

There is a lot in my head these days about the past and my way of dealing with it (or not) and I need to sit down and sort them all out. I have come such a long way even without my Mother and I need to keep that in mind. I know I am strong and capable. My Mother taught me to be that way. She taught me to love myself because others may not. She used to tell me...no one will love you like I do so you better start loving yourself. I believe that now. As a Mom, I feel that for my own daughter. She always told me I was smart and beautiful and capable of following my dreams. I wish I believed her then, it may have helped me to believe that more now.

Even without her here, she continues to teach me about motherhood because I use her model as my backbone. I turn to her when I need her most and I find myself asking "What would Mom do?" when I need to figure something out. I know she is here with me always and I consider what she would think of my actions when I do something I'm not so sure of.

I talk to her often and I see her in my dreams, but her image is cloudy because it's been so long.
Sometimes she speaks back in her own way...sometimes I feel her behind me...(She always had my back) I remember her dark hair and her broad smile and her olive skin, I'll never forget her because she is in my heart, but her image is fading slowly from my mind. I remember wanting so much to look like her when I was a kid.

I remember when she used to call me 'Jane-t' (pronounced Jane-tee) and she'd write my name like that too...It embarrassed me as I got older but I just wish I could remember her voice calling my name just one more time.

There's a Place for Everything and Everything in it's Place

When I'm feeling out of control, there's only one thing for me to do. Organize. If I can't get my brain in order, the least I can do is get my actual stuff in order. That coping mechanism has always worked for me and when my crap is out of control, it makes it harder for my head to get in order. It also seems that when my head is messy, so is the stuff. I take comfort in organization.

Over the New Year's weekend, BD left me to my devices for a much needed 'break' and what did I do? I organized toys. I really needed to. For my brain and for my closet's sake. I didn't know it at the time, but I needed to put our stuff (and my brain) in order. I threw out a whole pile of old toys and crap. I put all of the new stuff in bins. Beautiful bins. Bins with labels made on my computer. I wish my brain was in labeled bins. I should have paid more attention to the brain that day. I'm paying for it now.

Organization makes me feel secure. I have always needed to feel secure. My entire life has been a quest for security. Emotional. Financial. Organizational. Security. Years of therapy have taught me that the "inner child Laundress" has lost that security after the passing of my Mom at 17. My "inner child Laundress" is still 17 and will always be 17. Unless I help her grow up. I use organization to help her. It gives her control over something, anything she can get her hands on. Instead of focusing on her head. Which she needs to do more of. But that's hard to do.

It's tough to find that balance between the "17 year old Laundress" and the "Motherless Mother". How do I get them to live together in harmony?

Years ago, as the "outer Laundress" was attempting to become an adult, I organized my life with controlling the amount of food I put in my body and the amount of hours I exercised. A tangible way to harness the real things that were out of control, the grief of losing a Mom. To this day, I have never fully accepted her passing and I can not find a way to get over it. I still obsess over the things I can control in order to reign in the fears that I can't. My body image has suffered for years because of that.

I am angry. I am hurt that my Mom left me so young with the thought that "Moms don't leave" but they in fact do. And I feel like such a liar when I tell Fa that "Mommy always comes back" when deep down in my heart, I know eventually that is not so true. It makes me hurt so deep in my soul that I can not fully enjoy life with my beautiful daughter for fear that I may one day leave her too early. It makes me sad that I can't move past that for the benefit of my daughter. Once again, I have been stunted by my Mother's death.

The grief all seemed at bay until my beautiful baby girl was born. Then, the anger and the fear came rushing back. Uncontrollably. Disastrously. The loneliness and fears returned tenfold and I was once again disabled by grief. When I was without a child, I only had to worry about myself. Now, not only do I fear for my own self-esteem, I fear for F's as well. And I fear that I am crushing hers because mine isn't developed. I also still struggle with control and organization except now it makes me feel helpless. Especially now...it's not so easy to keep organized...that's impossible with a preschooler.

Therein lies the insecurity I have been feeling as of late. And I am angry. Severely angry. Therapy has taught me so much about myself and I still need to learn more. However, feeling anger is real at this moment and I need to sort out that emotion now. I know that anger is an emotion fueled by underlying fears, sadness, anxieties and unresolved issues. Anger, the bitch that she is, is brought on by other deep-rooted emotions. It is not an emotion in itself. It only lives by leeching onto other emotions such as sadness and fear. My anger once again is brought to the surface by stronger feelings that I need to organize in my mind.

My mind, if I could put it in the basement in 12 labeled bins right now would look something like this:
However, my bins are all toppled over by life and the only thing exposed is:
I take notice now how only the top four bins are positive emotions that are overwhelmed by eight negative ones. I need to get my head in balance again. What my mind's labeled bins should be, look something like this:
I notice here that only the last three bins hold room for feelings that I'll never truly abandon. It's just not in my nature. But the top nine bins are overloaded with positive emotions. Something I need to get back into my life.

I would fill those positive bins with the fantastic memories of my Mother and my family. I would overload those bins with the overwhelming joys that I experience with my beautiful girl. I would stuff those bins with the memories my husband and I have made together as a team and as F's parents. I would bombard those bins with more beautiful children to love and cherish and make our family a special unit. But for some reason, I can't get those bins together, let alone open them up to fill them.

I am still that scared, 17 year old girl who is waiting for her Mom to come home from the hospital with an "all clear" from the doctor. Only to have my Dad come home to tell me she didn't make it. I am still that same kid who after years of living without her, still waits for her to come back because "Mommies always come back". And I am angry that she hasn't returned miraculously after all these years to help me cope. That is stunting my parenting skills to the point of immobilization. It makes me angry. Very angry.

Then, I hear BD in the back of my head saying, "When you are ready, you will change things." And he has been right each and every time. I should learn by now that I can trust him with my life and he will make sure that F's Mommy always comes back even if her Mommy doesn't always believe it herself...

What bin should I put that in?

One day?

P.M.S.

My really special friend Southern Fried Mom sent this to me yesterday to cheer me up. It worked! I wanted to thank her and all of you great friends for taking the time to put a smile on my face when I really needed it. How did I get so lucky?

I still feel like day old dog doodie, but I won't bore you with that now. I'm working on a post that I hope will make me feel better and that I truly understand if you skip...;)

So, without further ado...13 Things PMS Stands For....(If I knew how to do a Thursday Thirteen, I'd wait)

1. Pass My Shotgun

2. Psychotic Mood Shift

3. Perpetual Munching Spree

4. Puffy Mid-Section

5. People Make me Sick

6. Provide Me with Sweets

7. Pardon My Sobbing

8. Pimples May Surface (Damn it, once again a huge zit on my chin!)

9. Pass My Sweat pants

10. Pissy Mood Syndrome

11. Plainly; Men Stink

12. Pack My Stuff

13. Potential Murder Suspect

Miss Blue*

Let me just start this post off with a disclaimer...I have PMS, I understand if you leave now.

But it did give me some energy to design my new header...like it? I was in a "time out" when I did it.

Ok, with that done. I have to say, I am feeling blue this week.

Maybe its the end of the holidays, the excitement over, a new beginning with nothing to look forward to, missing something or someone...a mixture of it all.

I don't know. I'm just blah. I'm cranky, tired and angry at everything. I even banged into a car with my door on purpose yesterday because the douche bag parked too close to me in the lot. This is something I usually get mad at, I mean really....There were plenty of spaces on either side of the dork and me, but he had to park right next to me, up close and personal, like he was giving me an enema for crap's sake (ha)... but my emotions seem heightened this week and struggling with my daughter to put her in the car seat while I was sandwiched between the car and the douche just got to me good. So I dinged the douche. Nope. It didn't make me feel better. Just more pissed.

I feel like a crappy mother. I feel like I have no patience for anything F does good or bad and I feel guilty as sin. When she's good she's very, very good but when she's bad I want to run away and I question every move I ever made in life. It feels bad. To feel that much anger toward a little girl who is just testing her boundaries. I just have no patience. And she has to take a god damn bath. It's not up to her. But I have no resources to help me in changing her mind. I can't read parenting books, they make me feel worthless, I can't ask anyone...So we fight.

I love her with all my heart and soul but my fuse is blown and I need to regroup. Fast. Or I may teach her that anger (and a lot of yelling) is the way to deal with everything in life...She can already throw a mean tantrum when she wants to and I know it's because she sees me do the same thing with the adult version of what a tantrum is.

I already feel like I have made her uncomfortable in social situations because I am that way exactly. I already feel like I am not exposing her enough to life and the way you should live it fully because I am so stunted as an adult. I already feel that yeah, I look happy on the outside, but inside I am a disaster and I don't want her thinking its her fault. And I don't want her thinking that's normal.

I also know that I do have PMS and while it's not an excuse, it is real and my hormone levels are way low. That really effects my balance. I have been doing so great with genuinely being happy and enjoying life. I know I am lucky and I have a wonderful family and home and husband and daughter...but there's a but. And I don't know what to fill it in with.

Just this weekend, BD gave me the 'day off' and took Fa to his Mom's house for the day. I had the whole house to myself. I had a plan. I organized the entire basement play room. (Fun, I know, but organization makes me shiver with joy!) I was going to go to the gym and the mall...but, he took the extra car's keys (accidentally) so I couldn't leave the house. I was stuck. I was mad. Why? I don't know. I hate feeling stuck. My plans were foiled again...

Then I started to miss F. I look forward to her having fun without me then I can't wait for her to get home to be with me. I feel like I am stunting her growth because I can't allow myself to grow without her. I am too connected. I know she we need to have her our own individual life and be independent. I know I need to have my own life. I know therein lies the problemo.

Then I felt them creeping in. The blues. Why is blue the color of sadness anyway? It's such a beautiful color, why is it when you are sad you are blue? The sky is blue, eyes are blue, blue and red make purple...my favorite color. Blue should be a good thing.

Every time I feel this way I fear that it will get as worse as it was before F was born or even scarier, after F was born. I don't ever want to be that low again... and while I usually get out of it fairly quickly on my own (thank you years of therapy), it still haunts me. Especially that ppd.

That creepy, dark blue space that I was once in. The space I fought so hard to get out of because it was so lonely. That blue abyss that I was drowning in with no way out. Thankfully, I was successful. But when I feel this way, I get scared. Scared that I will sink back into it and I don't want that memory to be in F's head about her crazy mother. The one that acted all happy and nice on the outside but inside had a real struggle going on.

I have posted about this feeling previously and got into trouble with 'people' about it so I have to be careful not to sound like a mental patient. But it is my fear and it is how I'm feeling and this is about me and this is a way to sort out my mind and keep it in writing to look back on. For prosperity's sake? I don't know. Sorry if I'm not making any sense.

I just know, I'm feeling blue. Maybe I can find it inside of me and get it out here. Maybe that would make me feel better. Maybe I just have to get out of the house.

*It's a song by Filter

In with the new...

I did make it to midnight. Barely. Thanks to Dog the Bounty Hunter and Entourage. It was the first time I saw the ball drop in at least seven years. I know...Partay Animal. You Jealous?

Anyway, the holidays are over and the birthday is over, time to get back to normal; take down the decorations (who hoo!) and live like normal people again. Whatever that means. I don't have any new year's resolutions (other than the ones created on blogthings) because I never adhere to them. I always say, "My new year's resolution is that I won't make any more new year's resolutions!"

Other than my dry, cracked and bleeding hands from fighting with all the packaging and twisties the toys come in, I hafta say, we made it through fairly unscathed. Yay me us.

The end of the year was fantastic. Fa's birthday was filled with love and gifts...Christmas was too. We went to BD's parents for Christmas eve and my Dad's for Christmas day.

Santa ate all his cookies during his visit while we slept and made a huge mess for me to clean up. Fa didn't know what to make of that. It was so cute. I loved watching her wonder about Santa. She was afraid to come down the stairs Christmas morning because she thought he was still here. We had to assure her that he was long gone and still handing out gifts under other people's trees in order for her to get downstairs to open her presents.

We got lots of great loot and cool gifts from family and friends. My brother in law and sister in law got us this book to try to learn how to train our dopey dog. I love that man, Cesar.

I got this cool 'Tiffany' necklace from family, this bracelet and money from Dad and this wonderful pair from F and BD. Things I totally didn't ask for. THAT is a great surprise!

BD got wine (of course) and his all time favorite thing in the world..Silafunghi. The man loves his spread. I don't see the beauty in it, but he does and that's all that matters.

F was bombarded with toys and clothes and didn't know where to go first. It was wonderful and exhausting. We are a lucky bunch.

I took Fa to get her pictures taken for her birthday and I loved seeing her act like such a big girl in the studio. I loved all the photos and she really had a ball. The best photo session ever...No tears whatsoever....Partay.

What a supermodel!

Of course it wouldn't be a true holiday without pictures of... our food.

(Those are potatoes and rosemary! And I swear they just fell onto the aluminum foil that way...)

Happy! Happy! and healthy 2007 to my family, friends and internet buds!