Breathing

Posted by Wendy on Aug 17, 2010 in Blogging, Featured, Life, Writing | 2 comments

I know it seems I have abandoned this blog. And maybe I need to for a little while. I think that my issue is that I do not want to write something mediocre and right now, I feel like I don’t have anything important to say. So perhaps for a little while, I will go out and live life and accumulate experiences and remember what the driving force was that led to the creation of this site in the first place. If you want to be informed automatically when I post again, sign up via the email subscription link and it will send you an email when there is new content. I’m just going to go take a breath, revel in it and find my voice again.

Wendy

Kid in a Candy Store

Posted by Wendy on Aug 2, 2010 in Featured, Life, Parenting | 4 comments

MyMarine and I took the kids to a local amusement park last week as a special treat. We arranged vacation days, hauled the kids out of camp and away we went. It was also a send-off of sorts, as the girls had to go back home the next day. It was a bittersweet day, filled with the juxtaposition of making memories and knowing those memories were coming to an end all in the same 24-hour span.

So, one of the first rides we went on was a mild kiddie affair called Balloon Express or some such thing. It was deceptive, however, because it whirled you around at an alarmingly fast pace. I may have screamed but I’ll deny it in a court of law. I sat across from Mini-Man who howled and screamed like a monkey who has been shot in the ass. He was delighted. So they all wanted to go on it again. MyMarine took a turn with the kids as I sat out and reacquainted myself with equilibrium. When Mini-Man came off the ride, he was green. He looked like he was going to puke and he was starting to sweat and complain about his stomach. This is the moment that the inner-mother-warning-bell begins its sharp distress ascent as you begin to realize something bad is about to go down.  Words like PROJECTILE VOMIT, EMBARRASSING LIQUIDS and ROSEMARY’S BABY start gurgling somewhere below the surface as the approaching danger starts to percolate in violent, mental images. You imagine having to apologize to perfect strangers and realize you don’t have a change of clothes for your vomit-spattered child, or yourself for that matter.

We sat down and I told him I would get him some ice cream. Ice Cream! Ice Cream is the answer. He perks up at the thought of the cool treat that may bring him slowly back from the edge of the cliff. Now, I have nothing against Dippin Dots, as I know that they are quite tasty and I don’t begrudge them a damn thing, but at that moment, I needed soft serve ice cream and all I could find was Dippin Dots. I finally tracked down a soft serve ice cream stand and I approached it as if I was approaching a cool stream flowing through the desert. And just like in the desert, it was a mirage.

“Sorry!! This location is closed.”

Mother$#^%%%^!&(&&^%$#

I return, empty-handed and see my son sort of floof out, as if the one remaining burning ember had been doused. I notice that next to where we are sitting is a store called The Candy Corner. I flap like a demented seal in excitement and pick him up and carry him into the store. At this point, I would pour chocolate-covered nerds down his throat if he wanted them. I start pointing out items and notice that he looks as if I just offered him calf’s liver. The woman hands us a piece of fudge to try. I think she may have sensed the panicked waves of anxiety rolling off of me. Either that or she saw the demented flapping. He refuses it. I exit, defeated. I gave the kid the option of anything in the candy store. He looked like he was about to burst into tears. I should probably mention at this point that my son has some issues with motion. I thought it was limited to car rides and airplanes but I have now added amusement parks to this list.

I sent the girls and MyMarine off to go on more rides and took my son to a park bench and laid him down so he could chill for a few moments. Five minutes later, I look down and I notice something.

He is asleep.

Huh.

I’m so glad I spent $492,000 to attend this amusement park to spend it looking over my sleeping child in the middle of the day.

People are walking by and I begin to notice that they are staring at us. A few people look a few seconds too long. And it dawns on me that this is something akin to being in a coma in the middle of Disneyland. Fairly unusual and not a common occurrence.  Then I notice a kid go by and point at my son. Now, this child was young…I’m talking pre-verbal, but even he had the sense to communicate with his eyes what I knew he was thinking in my head:

HOLY EFFIN SHIT! IS THAT KID SERIOUSLY ASLEEP IN THE MIDDLE OF AN AMUSEMENT PARK???? ~*Sirens are going off and flare guns are being shot~* KID, WAKE UP! WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUP! YOU ARE MISSING PRIME PLAYTIME! THIS ISN’T AN AVERAGE, EVERYDAY EVENT, MAN! THEY DON’T TAKE YOU HERE ON A WHIM. THIS ENDS, KID! WAKEUP!

But my son? Blissfully unaware.

He finally woke up about forty minutes later. He felt much better and we went on to have a fantastic, fun-filled day. We went to the water park side and he was a completely new and sparkly child. But the forty minutes I sat there with a sleeping child felt a little like being in a fabulous restaurant with a hunger strike sign around my neck. I thought of the little boy whose eyes about popped out of his head as he saw my child wasting the precious manna heaven had bestowed.

And I laughed.

Image Credit : | Carlos Lorenzo

Forgiveness

Posted by Wendy on Jul 21, 2010 in Brain Dump, Featured, Life, Miscellaneous, Writing | 10 comments

I had a long heart-to-heart with my mom tonight. I needed the verbal wake-up only a mother can provide. It boils down to this: I still have not forgiven myself for all the shit that happened with my ex-husband over two years ago. I was at fault. I acted horribly. But if I do not choose to move on, I am going to get stuck in the cement tide that has been nipping at my ankles for two years. And once that happens, I will be encased. And enslaved… to regret, anger and bitterness and I refuse to let that happen. I didn’t fight this hard to get this far to stop swimming now. I am not going to tread water in this pool any longer. Even if I have to come on here every couple of months and read myself the riot act. I do such a great job of telling everyone else to forgive themselves, to live without regret, to accept what has happened and I do not listen myself.

If I do not learn to let the anger go, I am going to drown in rage.  The only person who is being consumed by this poison is me. I do not want to be angry anymore. I do not want to live with this feeling of profound guilt for all the pain of yesterday. I can choose to leave it here, tonight. I can choose to bury it in a meaningful place, one this life so conveniently erects for us, where history is given its proper due: the past.

I may need encouragement from time to time. I might need a little help. But if I do not choose forward motion here this evening, then I am going to be carrying out my own sentence and I refuse to have broken out of a prison to remain there of my own choosing.

No more.

Thank you, Mom. For the light at the end of this tunnel and showing me I’m halfway through. The rest is up to me.

Image credit : | John Carleton

Reflections of…

Posted by Wendy on Jul 10, 2010 in Brain Dump, Featured, Love | 11 comments

Birthdays are typically times of reflection and, as this is the occasion of my 39th round-trip, I am no exception. There were some birthdays, in years past, where I would wonder if I was living my best life. I knew, instinctively, what the answer was but the terror of asking and having that small voice rise up among flat terrain can be an immobilizing event. I knew but didn’t want to know. I was so mired in my life and commitments that it felt treacherous to allow that doubt to bubble up. But we know that doubts are tough to silence. So I would blow out my candles or toast to another year with that unease riding shotgun in a hard-to-define position I had negotiated for myself.

Here I am, about to celebrate the day with my son, MyMarine and his girls and it seems a bit miraculous to me. How did I get here? I remember the route but the journey was difficult. It’s hard to cast off bonds without repercussions and my trip has been no different. But the end result?

Let’s talk about the end result.

Do you remember when you were little and life went left when you desperately wanted it to go right? You would hope for a “do-over”, knowing somehow that this was rare and not often-bestowed for mere regret. A “do-over” that would wipe the slate clean. A “do-over” that would right the wrongs that somehow piled up in an angry mob in the corner. A “do-over” that would allow you to look back, when you were 90 years old and traveling down the lane in your mind that is lined with pictures and memories, and small decisions which gave birth to plate-shifting changes, and you would think, No regrets.

This seemed a thing so impossible, years ago. It seemed as if the regrets had lined up already and I had gotten used to their shape and feel and resigned myself to their place in my life.

No longer.

Sometimes the toughest roads lead to the most wondrous locations. The scenes of our lives where we say with abandon, with joy, with utter wholeness, here is where I belong. The doubts recede, the voices quiet and all that is left is a small peace that infiltrates with the realization that you no longer require a “do-over”. You have made your own. You have redefined your road. You are where you are supposed to be.

Happy Birthday to me.

Image credit : | Always Be Cool

The Imperfection Creed

Posted by Wendy on Jun 28, 2010 in Brain Dump, Featured, Parenting, Single Parenting | 11 comments

One of the things that keeps me writing here is feedback that I’ve received. I’ve been told that I keep it real. Whether this is code for “wow-thanks-for-displaying-your-hot-mess”, I will leave up to you to ascertain. However, it resonates with me that I wish everyone could be real. All the time. Wouldn’t we all be better off if we could admit that:

a) We don’t always know what we are doing
b) We probably piss off five people a day doing this
c) Yes, our child will probably require therapy
d) The facade is exhausting

So, now that we have emotion-vomited, don’t you feel better? What??? Why not? Oh—–that’s right. Because you haven’t. And you can’t. We have to be perfect. All the time. In every way. Not working for you? Yeah. Me either.

Here’s what I discover on an almost-daily basis:

1) I don’t particularly like everyone else’s children

2) I don’t particularly like a lot of parents

3) Maybe it is my kid.

4) And your point is?

5) I got through it.  They will too. Right?

6) Riiiiiiiigggghhhhht????

7) Questions 5 & 6 keep me up at night.

8 ) What do I do now?

9) There absolutely was NO manual included here (I looked!!) and I resent the implication that there was one and it was only me, the idiot, who didn’t look hard enough to find it.

10). In the end, it all comes out the same. Whether you did a, b, c, or d, guess what? You’re going to be blamed for 85-95% of it all anyway.

In the last year, I have dealt with many situations that make me question myself as a parent.

Do I have all the answers? As my southern girls would say, “Oh HEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLL to the no.” Do I pretend to? Now here is where it gets interesting. A lot of parents do. They act like they have been over the mountain and  back, have the t-shirts and it bores them to tears to still be sitting here, on this child-safari, dealing with amateurs like you. A lot of parents feel they do have ALL of the answers. YOU are the problem. YOU and your ill-mannered, rowdy, know-it-all child who dare to offend the likes of their blameless angel. They look at you like you have shit on your shoes and keep dolphins in nets in your bathtub.

So I throw down the gauntlet….here and now. Are you perfect? Have you always been perfect? Have you never been wrong? Has no one ever shown you the way? Didn’t you even like the first episode of Cop Rock? ADMIT IT, TRAITORS! Peel off the front that society has handed you and STAND the F-UP! Say it with me, the imperfection-creed:

1) I don’t always know what I am doing.

2) That which does not kill me makes a psychologist profit one day.

3) Sometimes it’s so wrong, it’s funny.

4) That kid might HAVE to be stuffed into a locker someday to learn.

5) I’ll be thin later.

6) Sugar can be your friend. Just don’t tell anyone.

7) Yes, fuck-it-all, YES. Sometimes chlorine DOES qualify as a bath!

8 ) Going to McDonalds does not, upon further review, make you the arbiter of your family’s doom.

9) Sometimes we all give in.

Stand up! Embrace it! Say it with me here…before I go into a trance with snakes and shit.

The religion of know-it-all-parenting is a front, not a reality – stand up and be proud of your inadequacies!!! None of us — and I do mean NONE of us– are given the “answers-on-page-220″ edition. Cite the imperfection creed! Stand firm in your mediocrity!

*~This has been a public service announcement. Please hear it with the humor intended~*

Image credit : | Jannie-Jan

Steps

Posted by Wendy on Jun 16, 2010 in Featured, Love, Parenting | 5 comments

A new familial challenge is on the horizon: MyMarine’s girls are coming today! For six weeks! Ohmydearlordletthemlikemeplease.

I am really excited to meet them. I don’t want to come out and say that I am actually desperate for them to like me, but I will say I don’t look good in Wicked-Stepmother attire. It doesn’t suit me. The black ripped, ragged dress, cone hat and green mole just don’t work in the Carolina heat.

Mini-Man is beside himself with excitement. I think, and this breaks my heart a little, that he is just so looking forward to having siblings. This was the conversation that took place tubside yesterday:

Me: Are you excited to meet the girls.

MM: Yes! Maybe they can come to watch me at TaeKwonDo. Maybe they can sign up. How are they getting here? What time is their plane coming? Am I going to see them tomorrow? Are they going on a plane all by themselves? How are they going to get through security if they don’t have their mommy or daddy with them-

Me: Their mommy is flying with them and then their daddy will be right there at the gate to get them. I don’t think they’re going to sign up for TaeKwonDo, sweetie. They’re just here for the summer.

MM: Can they come over? Tonight? Can we go swimming? Do they like SillyBandz? ((No pausing for air inhalation took place at any point during this conversation)).

Me: What are you going to say to them when you meet them?

MM: ((Looks me up and down –I swear, he could be a psychologist–)) What are you going to say to them, mom?

Me: I’m going to tell them I am so happy to meet them and that I’ve heard so much about them.

MM: ((Nodding his approval)) Yeah. Me too.

Pause

MM: Mom? Are you and MyMarine going to get married?

Me: Yes, sweetie. Someday.

MM: Are you going to have more babies?

Me: No, honey. No more babies.

MM: But you don’t know that.

Me: ((Ah, yep, I kinda do)) Yes, kiddo. I do. ((Seeing that whole hamster-wheel of logic emerging on the 6-year-old horizon, I retreat , inwardly chanting ‘zen’).  But when MyMarine and I get married, you’ll have step-sisters.

MM: What are step-sisters?

Me: ((Trying to explain the concept but not truly understanding how the word ‘step’ can be fully explained to a child)). When people get married and they have already have kids, then those kids come together to make another family together. They’re called steps — step-brothers and step-sisters; step-moms and step-dads…

MM: Why steps?

Me: ((Rethinking the need to get  a Ph.D. for the sole purpose of conversing with my son)). Aren’t you excited?? ((Sprinkling my voice with high emotion, I try mightily to deflect the conversation off of my obvious intellectual deficiencies.))

MM: ((Sizing me up, he sees my dodge and feels sorry for me. He lets me off with a nod which communicates, in a single move, the fact that he knows more than me, realizes my limitations and has had mercy on my soul)). Yep, mom. I can’t wait.

Steps.

“The only steps in this house are those, and they lead right up to your bedroom.” She thought, channeling her inner Carol Brady.

Wish me luck.

Zen

Posted by Wendy on Jun 9, 2010 in Brain Dump, Featured, Parenting | 3 comments

“You really need to get more zen.” My family said to me on a recent visit. It was in response to my blood-pressure-raising response to my 6-year-old’s antics. Of which there are many. Unfortunately, my reactions elevate his behavior and sooner than you can say “Perry the Platypus”, we are locked together in an endless battle over his inability to use a tone that doesn’t mimic seals dying.

Zen.

I’m sorry. Is that a foreign country? Because I don’t have a passport to visit that location. And I’m quite certain that they will not be granting me a work visa anytime soon since I have no idea where zen resides, what it is or how to get there.

They’re correct, of course. My family. Which just makes it more frustrating. I do need to get more zen. I react to every little thing Mini-Man says or does because I feel that this is MY JOB with a capital “J”. I’m trying to raise a human being who is nice to everyone, polite, respectful, doesn’t step on anybody’s toes, doesn’t give any attitude and who never tattles. Ever. I think I needed to see it in black and white to realize how truly futile this task is.

Obviously, we need to pick our battles. I can say this until I am blue in the face, but I don’t listen to my own counsel. Mini-Man and I are a lot alike. We both like to have the last word, have wills carved out of titanium and do not like to be told what to do. Without a doubt, this is easier for a 6-year-old to pass off. At my age, I am supposed to “know better”.

Zen.

I kept trying to get there. I would repeat the small word out loud and try to visualize its green, leafy existence. I pictured a beautiful garden with a Koi pond and gentle wind kissing the nearby trees.

Zen.

Every molecule in my body was laughing maniacally at me as they rejected the intrusion of this foreign substance.

“ZEN? You’ve never been zen a day in your life! At five years old, you were as serious as a heart attack! Zen? Bullpucky! Good luck with that!!!” Muuuuuahahahahaaaaa! 

Yeah, it was painfully obvious that I couldn’t sell it and no one was buying.

I tried to ignore. I tried to walk away. I tried to close my eyes and reach a version of inner peace that felt a little watered down from my usual stress levels but inside, there was calamity because how can you embrace a thing you have only ever read about in magazine articles?! I am not a calm person. I am not a peaceful person. I don’t sit quietly. In fact, I’m pretty sure I don’t have any type of inner calm at all. If I am silent too long, my nerves get together and stage an intervention. I think my body runs on anxiety at this point.

I really sound like a party in a box, don’t I?

Okay, so I am not as bad as I portray myself out to be. Most of this is in good fun. But I am still searching for Zen and if you either find it, hear mention of it or can draw me a map, drop me a line. Until that time, it remains the emotional equivalent of the Yeti to me.