It's in the bag

So, I can't remember where I saw this...But there were a few blogs out there purging the contents of their purses/bags and I felt like I needed a good purge myself.

So here goes.

That's my bag baby.



It's what I use for a diaper bag/purse. I have 3-4 different bags that I switch through on a daily basis but they all stem from the contents of this one in particular!

These are Girl's supplies.

Pull ups (Don't remind me)/wipes/water bottle/snacks...we never leave home without these particular items for the Girl.

These are the Mom-supplies.

Sunglasses/eye drops/wallet/keys/phone/pens (notice nothing to write on)

Next in line of importance is the toys.
We have Littlest Pet Shop Pets on hand at all times/a stuffed, quacking duck/slinky/playing cards/coloring pad and crayons. You never know when you need distractions while you are in traffic or out to eat.

Then, you have Mom's toys.
The stuff that keeps HER sane.
The iPod, always updated and charged. Socks for gym class and meditation stones that help keep the positive vibes flowing. I need all the help I can get.

The wallet.
Which carries NO cash.
But lots of plastic.
And gift/shopping cards.
(I don't even go to Stop and Shop...since the aphid incident, and when was the last time I stepped foot in a Blockbuster???)

Must. Stay. Hydrated.
Gasp.

How do I find anything in this thing?


OH! Yeah...and....

There's a body-bag waitin' for this.

This photo was shot right after I discovered he ate the ENTIRE insides of a couch cushion...He always looks guilty when he's done something wrong. At least he has the decency to UNZIP the cusion before he chows down...oh, and the poop...not fun. Must be hard to squeeze out gigantic chunks of couch from your quarter sized butthole.

Not really busy...

...I just haven't been motivated lately.

I have been reading other blogs and commenting and there are some really great writers out there. I want to hang out with all of you and drink margarita's for Cinco de Mayo. Next to you all, I am a peon. I just haven't felt like blogging myself. I guess it gets old. Who wants to hear me anyway?

Some things I've been thinking:

I'm going to take pictures of girl's old rug and her new rug. They measured her room. Home Depot is full of assholes so I'm sure there will be a fuck up sometime soon. Plus, they are coming to measure my yard for a fence. Oh, Joy. Plenty of excuses to fuck up there. Can't wait for the festivities to begin!

Spring has sprung. But I feel like snow. Cold and annoying.
March has never been a great month for me, not terrible, just long. When you are teaching in NYC, March is the longest school month without vacation and the teachers used to get very antsy. I still feel that way. Antsy. I am waiting for the nice weather and in the meantime I can't enjoy it in the moment. I hate that. Years of therapy have taught me to enjoy the moment and I have forgotten how to do that already. It hasn't been that long since I've been away from it.

My dog is eating my kitchen cabinets.

Here's what most of them look like:

Here's what he's done:Here's the dastardly dog in action:
(Notice the fucking chew toy right in the shot!)
Here's what's gonna happen to him:

I swear to all that is holy!
I am not kidding.
I hate this dog.
No matter how hard I try to like him, I just can not.

Then, there's the dust. It doesn't matter how many times I dust. The bastard bunnies rear their ugly, fluffy heads and attack. They are under every item of furniture and on top of every smooth surface. Now, with the sun shining in through the windows I see it more prominent than ever. All the areas I have missed or neglected are calling my name. Swiffer how dare you betray me! Dog hair be damned!
I surrender. The dust bunnies have won.

I've been going to the gym a lot these past few weeks and my body feels trim but older. I can't help it. I'm getting older. Older. And weaker and less flexible. I'm aching in areas that never ached and feeling it. Boo Hoo. Big Baby.

But, then again my "Hat Trick" is coming up and I think I'm gearing up for that. Therapy has taught me to face the shit head on and I think I am trying to do that this time around. It is just a scary scene. Brace yourselves.

However, I'd like to end this rant on a positive note. (If you are still reading.)
Girl is getting really into dancing. She is dying to take a dance class ( I don't think she realizes I won't be there). But she's been obsessed with dancing. Dancing all over the house, yard, wherever you let her.

"Red Ballet Dance"
by The Girl

She has been perfecting the moves she already knows by heart. And adding newer, graceful arms and kicks. I am so proud. I will git that kid into dance class if it's the last thing I ever do!

AntiPamper Superstar

I am changing F's Pediatrician.
He's a dick.

I decided.

I can't continue to let him make me feel stupid for being 'overly' concerned about the ONLY thing that is important to me. And I can't let him continue to make me feel incompetent because my 3 year 3 month old is still in a Pamper. Fuck that.

I call to talk to him or make an appointment and his secretary is rude and obnoxious. To the point that I feel like I am bothering her. Oh! I'm sorry, did I bother you...at your job? (I am even having BD call to request her records be transferred...he will beat that grump at her own sarcasm and rudeness game by a mile...)

I get to see this doctor and he's so sarcastic (and I'm a HUuuuuuGe fan of sarcasm..see hubs) that I feel belittled. I'm all for sarcasm in the right place, but don't use it on a first time mom about her only child. It's just plain wrong. No matter how strong willed or competent that mom may seem. It's a thin veil and you're tearing it up. Dick.

If there are any doctors out there, especially children's doctors...Just remember that your patients, or their mothers are in a very delicate state when they are with you. They are probably insecure and worried. You really should think before you say something rude. And use kid gloves. (Pardon the play on words) They come in all different sizes. I'm sure you can find them to fit you.

So, that's it then. I'm changing her pediatrician.

I already called my daughter's original gastroenterologist from when she was a baby and we have an appointment at the end of this month. One down.

In my quest to find her a new doctor, I have asked around and her preschool teacher recommended hers. Right in our neighborhood. She says he is one that will welcome each and every seemingly silly query with respect and humor. He is one that will welcome me into his office with caring and honesty. He is not one that will make fun or be sarcastic to the point I'm doubting myself. Almost one to go.

Take that Anti-Pamper Superstar. You just lost your best parent.

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?

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

You gotta fight for your right to Paaaaty!

I'm resigning myself to the fact that my child is just not ready for potty time.

We had a potty party yesterday! (Whoo hoo)... Complete with home-made hats, songs, dances and panty-matching games. We danced and sang all day in our panties..yes...picture that. And while she held it in for hours upon hours, she never actually sat on the pot to release. She flat out refuses.

By the end of the day, she was bloated and cranky and practically begged for a Pamper. As soon as I put it on her, she crapped. I can't say that I was much help yesterday either. I was am quite cranky these past few days. I just think the stress of the potty and the holidays is really getting to me. I wonder how she is feeling? Wait, I think I know. Good thing my Aunt was here for the party...she controlled the parts where I lost all control. It was tag-team potty party. It still didn't work.

I thought for sure she was ready. I gave her the choice of when she wanted to have the party, she chose yesterday. She decided when she wanted to wear the panties and I didn't remind her to keep dry, she did it all by choice. But when the 'pee pee dance' started, she just went bananas and refused. She ran away and cried in the corner telling us to leave her alone...just hating the thought of sitting on the crapper.

So, I yelled and lost patience all day and she got mad at me and wanted to keep far away from me. It was really great fun. Not. My kid's new mantra is "Mommy's mad." Probably not the way to potty train. Ya think?

I guess I should have known yesterday morning after the turn of events before the actual potty party began. First, I took her for a haircut and she screamed and cried and refused to sit in the cool jeep to get her hair cut. The blow driers and vacuums totally freaked her ass out. It sure wasn't like the last time she got her hair cut. Then afterward, she told me she was mad at me because she was scared and I made her stay there anyway.

Then, we went to Party Giant to get party hats for the potty party. I drove all the way into Queens to the 'closest' Party place and it was boarded up with signs all over it. Great. I was cursing.

Then, we went to Michael's to find some hats we could either just buy or make...we found some foam visors with cool foam stickers to go with them. They had "boingy" elastic on them and she fell instantly in love. They turned out gorgeous, but the tantrum in the store because she didn't want to leave should have tipped me off.

Finally, we came home and she refused to wait for my Aunt to come over to decorate the hats. She wanted to do it all by herself. I have a hard time reminding myself I need: Patience, Mommy!

We started the potty party and it all went way down hill from there. Yes. I fought for my right to potty. But the child could care less.

We even made a home complete with potty (out of the holiday boxes that UPS delivered) for her to play in...Didn't work. She loves the new home but could live without it's potty. We colored the walls outside and in, I even cut out windows with shutters and a flower box for her. I am very proud of our masterpiece.

I guess, since I can't get rid of the stress of the holidays I'll have to get rid of the stress of potty time. I'll get back to it in the new year. I may be in a padded room by then. Ha!

Potty This!

I can't take it. I must be the world's biggest Dummy.

She's just not ready yet. According to the book above anyway.

She'll be three in less than a month, but she's just not ready. I am reading now that her physical development is just not mature enough. She can't won't get on and off the pot, she can't won't undress/dress herself...she holds it in for hours in her panties...but will NOT sit on the pot when she hasta go... Which means her emotional development is also not ready. I am getting frustrated.

Yesterday morning, deep into late afternoon, she held it all in the entire time she was in her panties. I put her in her pull ups for a nap at around 1:30 PM and not a second later...the dang pull up needed to be changed. What the? She's too smart for our own good, I think.

She knows when she hasta go. She wore panties all weekend...Until we had to go out or nap. She held off until the pull ups came out. It was a waiting game. I waited for her to have an accident or actually go in the pot when I put her there...and she waited (patiently) for the pull up to surface.

Ugh. Double Ugh...Triple ugh.

So I get this e-mail this week

I am a member of Parent Center online. It is a very helpful resource for first time and experienced parents. I love getting updates on Fa's milestones and goals for her age group. This e-mail gave me douche-chills though...

No sillies, not the nap part...I can deal with 'quiet time' in her room, just as long as I get a break too...

Did you catch paragraph three??? Here, I'll paste it here for you so you can really get a good look:
"Being interested in the differences between girls and boys is a normal part of growing up. Try not to react with shock or horror if you find your child in the midst of an anatomy check with another child. Just let both children know that penises and vaginas are kept private and steer them toward another activity. They'll probably be relieved, since they may already have some sense that the game they were playing is taboo."

What the? It starts this early?! For Christ's sake. I can't deal with that. Now, I know if you've read this post...you know I am all for being honest and real when it comes to 'life lessons'. But three? Holy Canoli people. I don't think I'm quite ready for honesty that early...I need a drink.
__________________________________________
Also, she still refuses to pee or poop on the potty. I am trying all sorts of negotiation tools. Cookies, m&m's, Littlest Pet Shop Pets, Rubber Gloves...(Yes, rubber gloves the kid likes to pretend to be a doctor, ugh...see above) Nothing. Jeez this kid has a stiff constitution. She will be the girl who walks down the aisle in a Depends.

Oh the grossness!

Today's topic is 'foods that I love that others think I'm crazy for eating'. Well, you see, I am a picky eater so my post is gonna go the other way. There are certain foods that just really make me gag that other consumers in the circle of life find quite normal to eat on a daily basis.

For example, red meat. Red meat of any of the normal variety, really. Hamburgers, steak, veal, meatballs. ugh. It makes my skin crawl. You see, when I was younger, I ate red meat. I loved cheeseburgers and french fries. Then one day, I got one of those gritty little-ballies in a burger, you know..the gristle. The thing that is so tiny yet so horrifically disgusting when you are taken by surprise by its hardness. Yeah, one of those. I swore off burgers forever.

Then, as I got older and started taking note of what I put in my body, the whole idea of cooked flesh just weirded me out. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not all for "saving the cows" I know they are there to be consumed, its nature. I wear leather (rowr) and I have black & white, calf skin cowboy boots...(I know you're jealous now) I am not a member of any of those "save the fill in the blank's" and I think that red meat is a great source of iron and protein. I just don't wanna eat it.

This however, causes a great deal of raucous in many houses I visit for dinner. I don't understand why! Just because I can't eat the pasta with the meat sauce you cooked because I taste the meat flavor or the veal shank you prepared for hours because the bone sticking out just makes me quiver. Don't get so upset. I'll eat plain pasta. I eat chicken too...(even though when I think about what it is really, I get queasy, so I try not to think about it) I'm not all that hard to please. Salad works just fine too. I even sometimes bring my own turkey burgers or chicken cutlets to bar-b-q's just in case. (I have been caught with nothing but hot dogs and burgers one time too many!)

Don't panic though. I'll eat before I get there if you want. I can gladly eat a bowl of rice or cereal if you truly have nothing else. I just don't like the taste or the smell or the texture or the idea of red meat. That's all. I am a picky eater. But I don't think dinner hosts should freak out every time I come over. I am very flexible...Just as long as it hasn't mooed, baa'd, oinked, quacked, meowed or barked before you got your hands on it. Now is that so bad?

I curse therefore, I am.

So what?

But, Kate got me ta thinkin'. She is trying very hard to curb her colorful language and I think that's a great idea. For her. I see her points about cursing in front of the kids and I wish her all the luck in the world. I admire her for admitting she has to try to stop. I know it will be difficult because I have a mouth like a drunken, pirate hooker. I do. Big D thinks I do it to get a rise out of him. I really don't.

Some say it's a lack of vocabulary skills, I disagree. I have a fantastic vocabulary and I am a phenomenal speller (not typer).

Others would argue that foul language is a bad example for children. I can agree, somewhat. I mean I didn't curse at or in front of my past students and I try hard to curb my expletives in front of other people's kids. I slip up occasionally, but not usually. But, it's not my job to teach other kids how to curse...let their parents do it.

When I'm home or comfortable or just being 'me'. I swear, I curse, I use foul language. I do.

Fa hears it. I feel a tad bit bad for it, for a split-second. She is young and impressionable and hears Every-Thing! She repeats things. Then, we giggle. We igonore it. We say that Mommy says bad things and she shouldn't. But it's me, and I can't help it. And it really is funny to hear her say "R crapped in his crate again." or "We hafta throw my shit in the toilet."

When I am in public, she sometimes asks if she could "touch my bosoms" because we always say "Don't touch Ma' Bosoms!" when we are joking around. We laugh. I "bite her arse" and play "babbaloo on her bum". She breaks out in hysterics. We use 'funny' language as a tension release when she is tantrumming and I say; "Aw, cut the crap!" She cracks up.

When I'm mad I say, "oh shit" or "fuck!" or "Damnit to all that is hell" or even "Your mother's balls". When I am happy I say; "hell yeah" or "Hot damn" or "Wholly fuck" I have even been known to say; "Shit on my rake and call me Uncle" or "Slap my monkey and call him Shitburger" or my all time favorite "Balls"... We pee ourselves with hysterics. When someone cuts me off on the road, I call him an asshole or a prick. I may even give him the finger. Well, what else should I say? "Oh, snufflepuffs, you cut me off dear lad...I'm so sorry sir, was I in your way? I promise not to ever be in your lane ever again." (fucking shit head) That pisses me off. Oh wait, I'm sorry, That really burns my britches. Is that better? It may sound better to your average prude but I don't talk that way, and Fa will know the difference.

Cursing is so benign in the grand scheme of things. There are other worse things I could be doing. Crack comes to mind. Cursing lets us laugh and be silly. It helps to get out emotions. It lets each other know we mean business.

Admit it, home is where we can be ourselves. Fa has to learn that there is a time and a place for everything. This goes for kissing, hugging, arguing, cursing and even farting...another joy in life. She has to know that she can't call her teacher a fuckface just because she is one. Face it. When someone says "fuck you, fucker" it stings. Words hurt, curse words too. So she needs to be taught the acceptable platforms that allow you use such language. She needs to learn when and where to use these colorful words.

We learn to be polite, to hold back, to speak our minds. We learn not to pick our noses, we learn not to eat with our hands. We also should learn curse etiquette. I curse at home. I also use other ways to express joy, anger and sorrow. But cursing just feels good. I curb my tongue out of the house only because others have this mentality that 'cursing is bad' or 'cursing is evil' and I am raising the 'froo-its of evil' by cursing in front of her. C'mon. I learned when to curse (from my mother), so will she. My mother also taught me about "the birds an the bees" with a very cut and dry demeanor. That's for another post. Stay tuned.

Fa's only going to be 3 but she hasta learn some time. Should I wait until she's in school and some shitty kid is cursing at her and totally freaking her out? No, I'll arm her with some witty comebacks, good vocabulary and a little colorful language to spark things up and if any little prick decides to be mean, she'll put them right in their place. It will take trial and error. I'll probably get some phone calls from school. Then I'll meet with with principal and tell her that we do have alternative ways to express ourselves and Fa and I will work on them. And on my way out of the office I'll call her a douchebag under my breath. I truly believe that cursing is a way of life. My life especially. And if Fa decides she hates foul language, than more power to her.

We should embrace colorful words and let cursing be. The more we try to hide it, the more taboo it becomes and then Fa will really be looking for ways to use it. Now, I'm not going to be able to keep her away from all things taboo. I know that. And I surely wouldn't give her drugs or teach her how to inhale to show her the dangers of drug addiction. But, I will have to teach her about healthy choices and making smart decisions. Is cursing such a bad decision?

Oh, Fuck it!

545 (Five for Five) and a few rants

Ok, Melanie...Here is my "Five For Five". This was fun but hard to come up with.

Five Minutes to yourself. How would you spend them ideally?
1. read more than one chapter in a book
2. sleep
3. lie on the beach
4. drink a Margarita
5. sleep
Five Dollars to spend right now. How or where would you spend it?
1. Littlest Pet Shop toys for Fa
2. Starbucks
3. CVS
4. Target
5. Children's Place
Five items in your house you could part with right now?
1. the dog
2. the dog
3. the dogs poop
4. all the remote controls
5. the dog
Five items in your house you absolutely, positively could never part with? (Family excluded)
1. the bed
2. my laptop
3. Fa's burpies
4. my Uggs
5. my camera
Words you love?
1. Fa
2. la la
3. carchookie chicken
4. bean dip
5. doodie bomber

5 people I will tag...
the first 5 people that read this...ha ha...you're it.

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Then yesterday, we had gym class. Fa was in a little bit of a self-proclaimed 'grouchy mood' so things weren't going as smoothly as usual. She was whiny and uncooperative the entire class. (She never participates with the group but this time was b-a-d!) Finally, Ms. Laura brings out Fa's highlight: balls and bubbles. She played with the balls happily and ran to catch herself some cool bubbles. All of a sudden I see her sitting on the floor crying. I thought it was just a fit again, but the teacher told me that she was knocked down. By a little animal. The teacher didn't use that description, I did.

This kid. Whatta brat. She is always cutting the other kids in line, pushing them out of the way, yelling at them when they ignore her, hitting others and running around like a lunatic. Her nanny is usually talking on the phone and always ignoring her. Now, I understand dear reader, the kid is starving for attention...negative attention is better than no attention at all. But why is she allowed to run ragged when the others have to behave? I was so pissed that she clocked Fa that I kept telling Fa the next time she does that to her she should push her right back. I know, I know, bad example but shit man, should't Fa be able to stick up for herself in extreme situations?

I'm not gonna be the one to teach this thing to behave in a 45 minute class, the teacher can't, so the next best thing is to teach Fa some self-defense. Before you get mad at me, I also told Fa to just stay away from the little animal and tell me if she bothers her again. Damn it. Fa has a red mark on her cheek now to top it off. What the?

So that was our day at the gym. Why do the little brats get away with murder and the good ones get beat up?

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Fa's new song:
(Sung to the tune of Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel)

RT RT RT... you're such a little twerp.
RT RT RT...I'll put you in the dirt.

Gee, where did she get that song from?

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Guess who I saw in two consecutive days out and around the town? Flash Card Bitch. That's right! And her "angel" was with her and they both had pusses on their faces. Pissy pants. I can't wait to get into it with her. That'll make for great bloggin'!

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Had lunch here yesterday too. It was Yummy. I ate vegan split pea soup and the tricolore salad pizza. It was wonderful. The crust is thin and has cheese melted into it like a second skin...I luurrved every tasty morsel.

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Blogger sucks. It took me 3 hours to get this post up here.

Because it's always about me...Damnit!

Man, you readers are just plain fabulous!

I can't believe all of the comments and e-mails I've gotten in the past 24 hours telling me that I shouldn't give up and keep on blogging! Thank you!

Yesterday's post was, I admit, written in haste and pure anger. And I still feel angry about censoring myself for the benefit of others, even if those others are family. But I decided that I am not going anywhere (I never was) I am just going to divert your attention to the lovely, the wondrous, the talented, the gorgeous...ok, ok, you get the picture right?....ME!

I was told (not by a stranger, mind you) that I am too revealing about two family members in particular...you can use your imagination...Hello... However, the eye rolling, looks of sheer horror and sarcastic comments just got too much for me to handle so I got pissed. And when The Laundress gets pissed..loogout.

Well, ladies and gentlemen, I would like to have you take a look over here...at me. Hi. It's all about me from here on out. It's about the way I see motherhood, life, death, any other feeling (good or bad) I want to post about. I will stop talking specifically about the others in my household...not the dog...that farking dog shit in his crate again yesterday and last night! I woke up to a pile in his muther farking crate. But, I digress.

I don't think I'm crazy, I just think I have issues. Who doesn't? Raise your hand! Hey, you in the back row...over here! Ya got some issues right? No! Well, you see now sweetie, there's your issue...dingbat. We all have 'em. Plain and simple. I just choose to write about them here. It makes me feel better. It soothes me. It's like writing that angry letter to your mother who passed away when you were just 17 years old and left you all alone to face the world. It's like that letter, except you didn't crumple it up and burn it to never see it again. You left it here to revisit, when you feel like it! And maybe to even get some cool feedback from some truly excellent people out there who feel you, sistah.

So, all in all, I have not left. I never posted to make anyone think I was leaving. (Honestly, I can't believe how many people responded) I was just mad, confused, hurt and well, pissed. I'm sorry if I confused anyone or made anyone want to "come to Long Island and kick my butt" (I love you Denise...) But thank you for your support. And all of you did help me to realize that this is good for m.e. It isn't for anyone else...It's just a place to be me, talk about me, stress about me, just be plain 'ole me. Good, bad or ugly. I just can't believe there are people out there who wanna read about me.

Aw shucks!

Or is it just a full moon?

Apparently, I say too much (to the wrong people.) I guess I have been purging to you dear internet, and not to the people who matter.

I’ve been told that my thoughts here on this blog are crazy loopy too revealing for some folks. And that the things I spew say have made certain people scratch their head in fear wonder. So, I am holding back editing my thoughts from here on out.

I apologize to the few readers I have collected along the way, but if you find me boring and uninteresting, I understand…You don’t have to come here anymore. I will still be visiting you, (you wonderful writers you) and I hope the few posts I lay out here will be viewed by some. However, I thought I was connecting, on some level with others who seemed to understand me, but the things I say are just too deep for certain people to take and I am beginning to frighten them. The comments alone that are left here by the wonderful people that visit tell me that I am not crazy and that I am not alone, but family others might disagree.

I am not a mental patient. I am just someone trying to figure out this thing called life…and this was a bajillion times cheaper than therapy. I guess, I’ll just have to call my therapist again.

This reminds me of the time when I was 16 and my boyfriend read my personal and innermost secrets in my diary. I flipped, threw it out, and never kept another diary (until now).

See ya ‘round. I'm not giving up...I'm just pissed taking some time to regroup.

***No, no, no Jenny, you gorgeous thing, I am not gone...just re-re-evaluating where I want this blog to take me.

31 Months

Fa is 31 months today. July 20th. It seems like yesterday I brought her home from the hospital...the both of us crying and unsure of what to do next.

Now, she's just such a joy in my life and those initial, unsure moments have passed me by. I can't believe I ever felt the way I did back then. I was so sad and scared and afraid of what might happen to her that I couldn't enjoy the 'moment'. I had severe PPD. I was a mess. I thought I was the only one who ever felt that way and I thought I would die. I wanted to die. I didn't want to be a mommy. I wasn't good enough to be her mommy. She deserved more than I could ever give. I wrote a letter to American Baby in response to an article I read a few months ago...they never published it. But I want to put it here. So someone else can read it. Not just me.

August 5, 2005

Dear American Baby,

I just finished reading your article: (left blank) in your August 2005 issue…and I cried. Not because I remember it happening like that, or because I miss those times, but because my first three months were nothing like the article. I had Post Partum Depression and I would have given anything to have those “new mommy” issues that the author had instead of the ones I had. I want to tell you my story because I also took notes, but I really don’t need to refer to them, I will never forget how I felt when my daughter was born.

Day one:
The day my daughter was born was when I began crying. I felt like my heart was ripped out of my chest and I could not breathe. It took me nine months to get used to having that little being inside of me. I depended on feeling her kick, hiccup, and move around at all hours of the night but nobody warned me that I would not have the same amount of time to get used to the fact that she WASN’T in there anymore. A part of my being, my reason for breathing.

The night she was born, I missed her so greatly that it felt like the loss of my mother all over again. I cried the entire time I was in the hospital. To top it all off, it was around Christmastime and the hospital was short staffed and short tempered. One nurse yelled at me because I called for help to go to the bathroom even after my allotted “two times” to make sure my bladder was functioning. I told her I couldn’t do it and she yelled, “Are you going to need to hold hands every time you go? What are you going to do when you leave here? How are you going to take care of the baby?” Good question. I wanted MY mommy. She wasn’t there. I was alone. I felt it from the first second my daughter was taken from me.

Day three:
Taking her home from the hospital was a different story. Like the author of the article, I sat in the back of the car with my daughter too. However, I was praying deep down in my soul for my husband to crash on the LIE so I wouldn’t have to live anymore. Once we were safely in the house, we stared at her for what seemed like an eternity and I hoped her parents would come and pick her up because I was done with her.

Breast feeding was a nightmare, I had no one to help me figure it out and my nipples were cracked, bleeding and literally falling off, so I had to stop. The hospital promised a lactation consultant who never showed up. I was devastated. I felt like a failure and a horrible person because all I wanted to do was see my daughter’s face from that special angle that no one else would ever see. Instead, I fed her the bottle hoping she would choke, this way it wouldn’t be my fault.

Day four:
I also figured out that at 32 years old, I was afraid of the dark. I hated being alone at night with her because that was when the thoughts and visions would be the clearest. I had thoughts of people breaking into the house and killing us all. I would see my daughter being sucked up by a chainsaw or lawnmower and I could not stop it, nor did I really want to. I never did anything to hurt her and I never would, even at my darkest, (I would rather have killed myself) but those visions were scary and made me very unsure of my sanity. I felt like I was losing my mind and my sense of reality. I wanted to die. I wanted to escape, run away and never see her again. I wasn’t good enough for her.

Week two:
The day my husband went back to work was when I realized I needed help. He was afraid to leave me alone with our daughter and most of all I didn’t want to be left alone. I was afraid she would get hurt and I couldn’t save her. I was afraid to drive in the car with her alone and I was afraid to leave the house even to go for a walk with her. What if someone kidnaps her, or me? I was afraid of her! She knew more than I ever would or could. I would look into her eyes and ask for her forgiveness because she got stuck with me as a mommy. I promised her I would find her a better mommy and one day she would understand why I left.

I started comparing my mother’s life to my own. I had my daughter the same time my mother had me. However, my mom died 17 years later and I started thinking that was my fate as well. I wondered what it was all for, if I was going to leave my daughter in 17 years like my mother did. Or sooner. Was it worth it? She really didn’t need me around at all, I thought. Just get it over with and let her live a fairly normal life without me….Mike would re-marry and she would have a person who could really take care of her… She was better off without me. That went on for a few weeks until I finally broke down. I didn’t want anything to happen to her. I didn’t want anything to happen to me because without me, she would be a motherless daughter like I am now. I didn’t want to live like that anymore. I didn’t want her to ever suffer the pain of losing a mother, like I have.

Week three:
Unlike the author, I didn’t join a mommy group because I was sure I was crazy and no one has ever thought of the things I think about. They’ll surely have me arrested or put away somewhere and take my daughter away from me. Not one mommy out there could possible feel the way I do. They are not in my head and they will never understand me. Those mommies are all living in a dream. It can’t really be as easy as they make it look. What’s wrong with me?

Week six:
I called my OB/GYN and told him my story. He referred me right away to a psychiatrist. I went to see him that same day. He prescribed Wellbutrin for the depression and Klonopin for the anxiety. I resisted but knew there was no other choice. I was going to hurt myself, not my daughter and I needed to fix things. It was a slow recovery. Aside from the physical aspects of childbirth, the mind can play fantastic tricks on you. Physically, I was a wreck. My body was not healing quickly and I had issues down below that no woman should ever deal with. It was scary. I felt useless and helpless and motherless and with medication, I was finally ready to be the mother that my daughter needed me to be.

Nineteen months later:
I thank the stars above that I used what little courage there was left to make me take a step in the right direction. My daughter is a well adjusted, active toddler and I couldn’t live without her. She is the air I breathe. My husband has been my rock because without his strength, I couldn’t find my own to help myself. I realized I wasn’t totally alone. I had people to help me and I had support when I needed it. I am forever grateful for my husband to teach me about life and love and motherhood.

I hope this letter helps just one woman out there who might be feeling a little the way I did. It is normal and not everyone has sparkly and bright experiences when they take their child home for the very first time. It is unbelievably scary and no one is truly prepared for what is to come. Especially when the crying, the diapers, and the all-nighters are the easiest things to deal with, compared to the visions, thoughts, and terrible fears you can have as a new mom.

Please use this letter if it helps just one woman out there. I know I went through such horrible experiences and I’m sure they are hard to read just as they are hard to share, but it would all be in vain if I did not help someone because of it.

Sincerely,
me

***No one has ever read this before. I am not sure I want it out there. But it seems fitting to compare myself now to then. I was so lost and I felt so alone. But I got through it and I look at my gorgeous Fa now and I cry. She is the heart that beats inside of me and the air that keeps me alive. Without her, I am nothing. Without her, I will die. I truly live for her smile and to see the joy in her eyes when I enter her room first thing in the morning. As happy as she is to see me, I am overjoyed to see her. I love this little girl with all of my being and I cherish every moment with her...even the first scary moments. For without them, we wouldn't be here today. My big girl. My love. My heart.