5.04.2012
Time
Ten minutes to three. Ten minutes until they come home. Ten minutes for the mind numbing loneliness of taking care of a newborn to end and a chance to interact with actual, speaking human beings. I'm happy. I pace the house and look down at K, a two month old finally asleep within the crook of my arm. I observe with furrowed brows the space below his forehead that is red and flakey from rubbing his face into my collarbone too many times.
I don't usually do this but today I wait on the front porch because frankly I can't stand to be alone a second longer than I have to. M pulls into the driveway with our second grade girl A coming home from school. I see his head flicker with some surprise to see me through the darkly tinted windows of his black car. I'm so happy to see him but we've been fighting and so I avert my eyes and smile instead upon our daughter as her tiny frame hoists the heavy black car door open. She runs to me and I purse my lips and shoosh her quietly through a raised finger to my lips, alluding to the sleeping baby in my arms. She tiptoes uietly and kisses K on the lips.
I still haven't looked at M. Apparently he is annoyed with my moodiness towards him. I have been moody, I know it but not without justification. For one thing I am tired day and night and besides I am with this baby very nearly all of my waking and sleeping hours. There are nights M does not stay the night. There are days he does not come at all. For these reasons alone I feel like I have some license to bitch a little.
M gestures to me if I'd like him to hold the baby. I hesitate for a moment. I don't mind holding the baby, I just don't like doing it in six hour shifts all by myself. Still, I pass the baby on to M as we are still standing outside, and I run inside jovially explaining to him that I've got poo on my sleeve and I need to change. I'm hoping the comment sounds funny enough for him to realize I am trying to make amends but he looks back at me bank-faced, somewhat annoyed and doesn't respond. Never mind, I fun inside and after I've basked in the simple joys in a clean t-shirt and jeans I'm about to step out but I pass a pile of dishes that need washing and are calling to me. I finish the pile and look up at the clock. It's three forty-five. Forty-five minutes have passed and M and A and baby are outside doing God knows what fun and jolly things and no they haven't checked to see what Mommy is doing or whether she'd like to join them.
It's ten to four now and the loneliness is still palpable even with the three people I love most in the world just steps away. You see, I'm getting a bit misty eyed for maybe the fourth time today but I can't help but feel a little sorry for myself. I know what you are thinking, why don't I just go out there and join them? I know it is childish and immature to sulk here in my room and write about it rather than do something about it but its somewhat paralyzing to know the seduction of a bright sunny afternoon can make them forget about Mommy for a whole hour and half now.
7.01.2010
From time to time I will wake from a dream about some lost love over the coarse of my life. There are only a handful but like ghosts they come and visit me in my dreams as though I'm Scrooge McDuck on Christmas Eve. The list seems absurdly short now in relation to the number of partners I've accumulated over they years. My twenties has acted something like a filter of all these men, leaving behind a potent, bitter concoction that produce the sensation of regret, euphoria and nostalgia all wrapped into one.
I'd say the most regrettably lost was my first boyfriend Jeff who perhaps yearly visits my dreams and seems so real and close in slumber that it nearly pains me to return to the waking world. He is my high school sweetheart who treated me so well (in fact our last parting words as I stood there breaking up with him in the church basement for another guy was "No one will treat you better than I will"). Of course, he was right or at least I imagine so. He went on to become a high school biology teacher whilst in college at Cal before becoming a medical student and now a doctor of oncology who is married. Sigh.
Then there is Scott, the most recent to invade my dreams. It is surprising that he makes the list since we were never officially boyfriend and girlfriend. He was the dreamy Asian frat boy of my college days who I dated for two years. I absolutely adored him. He had milky white skin, great build, amazing little bachelor's pad. We went to raves together and restaurants and he taught me the difference between hip-hop and rap (quite a distinction around the turn of the century). He played Maxwell at night before turning the lights off which if you know Maxwell made lovemaking surreal. Big problem was he never referred to me as his girlfriend except once to a stranger, and that is what finally did us in. I believe he would have liked to keep things open ended for a little longer but after two years I was ready to move on. It wasn't entirely his fault - I freely dated other guys but perhaps only because I sensed he was a hopeless case from early on. Or maybe I was selfish. I am very selfish as you can tell by reading that first paragraph.
I just hate the way I feel when I wake up from these dreams. I have currently relegated myself to a life where being in love and getting married are being suppressed. I love Michael because he's Amelie's dad and because I genuinely love him but there are two problems. He's never once expressed any intention of us getting married. Second, he has a horrible unmanageable temper. And so perhaps it is not so big a problem because I do not think I really want to marry Michael after all.
But I do think I want to be in love the way I was when I was young. I must - even my dreams point to yes. The emptiness upon waking from these dreams is palpable. Perhaps being in love is not the problem but feeling loved is. I always ask Michael if he loves me and he asks me why do I ask? to which I reply I just need to know. And he answers with another question, Don't you already know? I like to hear it, I say. After all this weary extraction he answers yes and gives me a squeeze. Still I wake up feeling empty.
What do I do? Where do I find the answers?
I'd say the most regrettably lost was my first boyfriend Jeff who perhaps yearly visits my dreams and seems so real and close in slumber that it nearly pains me to return to the waking world. He is my high school sweetheart who treated me so well (in fact our last parting words as I stood there breaking up with him in the church basement for another guy was "No one will treat you better than I will"). Of course, he was right or at least I imagine so. He went on to become a high school biology teacher whilst in college at Cal before becoming a medical student and now a doctor of oncology who is married. Sigh.
Then there is Scott, the most recent to invade my dreams. It is surprising that he makes the list since we were never officially boyfriend and girlfriend. He was the dreamy Asian frat boy of my college days who I dated for two years. I absolutely adored him. He had milky white skin, great build, amazing little bachelor's pad. We went to raves together and restaurants and he taught me the difference between hip-hop and rap (quite a distinction around the turn of the century). He played Maxwell at night before turning the lights off which if you know Maxwell made lovemaking surreal. Big problem was he never referred to me as his girlfriend except once to a stranger, and that is what finally did us in. I believe he would have liked to keep things open ended for a little longer but after two years I was ready to move on. It wasn't entirely his fault - I freely dated other guys but perhaps only because I sensed he was a hopeless case from early on. Or maybe I was selfish. I am very selfish as you can tell by reading that first paragraph.
I just hate the way I feel when I wake up from these dreams. I have currently relegated myself to a life where being in love and getting married are being suppressed. I love Michael because he's Amelie's dad and because I genuinely love him but there are two problems. He's never once expressed any intention of us getting married. Second, he has a horrible unmanageable temper. And so perhaps it is not so big a problem because I do not think I really want to marry Michael after all.
But I do think I want to be in love the way I was when I was young. I must - even my dreams point to yes. The emptiness upon waking from these dreams is palpable. Perhaps being in love is not the problem but feeling loved is. I always ask Michael if he loves me and he asks me why do I ask? to which I reply I just need to know. And he answers with another question, Don't you already know? I like to hear it, I say. After all this weary extraction he answers yes and gives me a squeeze. Still I wake up feeling empty.
What do I do? Where do I find the answers?
4.01.2007
I know this is just a phase. Getting hurt in a certain way, even if ever so slightly, is just amplified by the regret you feel for letting your guard down again. It's like a boring lecture that you've heard a million times - kill or be killed. I just wish all these hard life lessons would stop and things would finally just fall into place. I get it already. When can I stop learning about how to get over assholes and start learning what life is really about? I don't know how much more of this i can take...
3.13.2007
What a weird and wonderful day... A few highlights.
Got off for lunch early and seeing as I had an hour to kill before lunch ended, decided to give my blood. Gave away a pint of my premium hemoglobin, and then proceeded to horde all the nutter-butters and mini-geyser waters that were laid out on the refreshment table. Later I started noticing some suspicious flashes in my vision so I checked into the clinic and got dilated up just to make sure my premonitions of retinal detachment weren't coming true. After that I couldn't see for shit and the outdoors were so god-damn bright, not to mention reading was clearly out of the question. So in this state of slight disorientation I decided to do what any disoriented person would do; that is, to get into my car, drive around and find something to do for the next few hours.
Anyhw, I completely forgot I had lab that afternoon. I figured it out when I was driving around and saw half my class walking across Associated Road, blindfolded. At first I didn't know it was them - just thought they were a bunch of sad CSUF students and started laughing. Then I realized they were some of my classmates from school, and started laughing even harder. I rolled down my window and shouted, "What on earth are you guys DOING???" Then Jen, a good friend of mine and who is forever picking up my slack mind you, shouted, "Sherry! We have lab now!" Completely dumbfounded, I looked in detail at the faux-blind procession and realized they were indeed my labmates. I quickly busted a U, parked at school and ran to catch up my class. Luckily they were blindfolded and moved painfully slow, and it was easy to catch up with them. Unfortunately ,thirty minutes later it was me walking across that loud and busy intersection blindfolded, looking and feeling as stupid as anyone.
Aside from this, the day was great. Met up with Karen at Borders, got free dinner and drinks at the Mariott, then rejoined with Karen, Pam, Mat and Aaruni at Oishi Sushi. I love seeing old friends, it made me feel so nostalgic.
Got off for lunch early and seeing as I had an hour to kill before lunch ended, decided to give my blood. Gave away a pint of my premium hemoglobin, and then proceeded to horde all the nutter-butters and mini-geyser waters that were laid out on the refreshment table. Later I started noticing some suspicious flashes in my vision so I checked into the clinic and got dilated up just to make sure my premonitions of retinal detachment weren't coming true. After that I couldn't see for shit and the outdoors were so god-damn bright, not to mention reading was clearly out of the question. So in this state of slight disorientation I decided to do what any disoriented person would do; that is, to get into my car, drive around and find something to do for the next few hours.
Anyhw, I completely forgot I had lab that afternoon. I figured it out when I was driving around and saw half my class walking across Associated Road, blindfolded. At first I didn't know it was them - just thought they were a bunch of sad CSUF students and started laughing. Then I realized they were some of my classmates from school, and started laughing even harder. I rolled down my window and shouted, "What on earth are you guys DOING???" Then Jen, a good friend of mine and who is forever picking up my slack mind you, shouted, "Sherry! We have lab now!" Completely dumbfounded, I looked in detail at the faux-blind procession and realized they were indeed my labmates. I quickly busted a U, parked at school and ran to catch up my class. Luckily they were blindfolded and moved painfully slow, and it was easy to catch up with them. Unfortunately ,thirty minutes later it was me walking across that loud and busy intersection blindfolded, looking and feeling as stupid as anyone.
Aside from this, the day was great. Met up with Karen at Borders, got free dinner and drinks at the Mariott, then rejoined with Karen, Pam, Mat and Aaruni at Oishi Sushi. I love seeing old friends, it made me feel so nostalgic.
2.09.2007
So I finally purchased my Coachella tix with one of my classmates this week. I'm really excited... haven't quite worked out the babysitting details or who else is planning to go, or even taken a hard look at my school schedule, but all I knows is I'm there that weekend, no matter what. Like I said, I just need to sit on the grass in the sun for a while, listening to some good music.
Speaking of sitting in the sun, I visited the arboretum across the way from school this week for the first time in years. The LA people know, it was so beautiful outside on Tuesday and there was no way I'd waste the first perfect day of the year inside of a stuffy lecture hall learning about old people. I brought my iPod along and listened to "Under the Iron Sea" whilst walking in and among the shadows of leaves, crocuses and bare branches. Then I sat on bench overlooking the water, used my backpack for a pillow and watched a half dozen short-beaked turtles sunbathe with their shelled backs turned to the yellow sun.
I laid on the stiff wooden bench and regarded the intricate pattern of the tree branches that hovered still, dormant above my head and how the reflection of the water created silvery ripples on their underside. A million thoughts raced through my head as I made like a bum laying on a park bench. They included career, friends, family, where I've been and where I might possibly be going. I chased my floaters into all fields of gaze and wished for a vitrectomy. I saw a male blue jay fall madly in love with a female blue jay and shamelessly chase her from limb to limb of a giant oak. I was so still a sparrow flew onto my little bench - I allowed it to remain for just a moment before I rustled so it would fly away.
Time to think and listen to your thoughts is so rare and precious these days. Sometimes thinking can be tiresome and complicated such that I'd rather just stay busy and ignore them for as long as possible. But I believe in perfect days, and every student's inherent right to ditch an hour or two of class to soak in the sun and the life it gives.
Speaking of sitting in the sun, I visited the arboretum across the way from school this week for the first time in years. The LA people know, it was so beautiful outside on Tuesday and there was no way I'd waste the first perfect day of the year inside of a stuffy lecture hall learning about old people. I brought my iPod along and listened to "Under the Iron Sea" whilst walking in and among the shadows of leaves, crocuses and bare branches. Then I sat on bench overlooking the water, used my backpack for a pillow and watched a half dozen short-beaked turtles sunbathe with their shelled backs turned to the yellow sun.
I laid on the stiff wooden bench and regarded the intricate pattern of the tree branches that hovered still, dormant above my head and how the reflection of the water created silvery ripples on their underside. A million thoughts raced through my head as I made like a bum laying on a park bench. They included career, friends, family, where I've been and where I might possibly be going. I chased my floaters into all fields of gaze and wished for a vitrectomy. I saw a male blue jay fall madly in love with a female blue jay and shamelessly chase her from limb to limb of a giant oak. I was so still a sparrow flew onto my little bench - I allowed it to remain for just a moment before I rustled so it would fly away.
Time to think and listen to your thoughts is so rare and precious these days. Sometimes thinking can be tiresome and complicated such that I'd rather just stay busy and ignore them for as long as possible. But I believe in perfect days, and every student's inherent right to ditch an hour or two of class to soak in the sun and the life it gives.
2.05.2007
I have just a few wishes these days. The first is to see someone special that I met over the internet. I know its sounds bizarre but it's true. I won't go into that in too much detail here, except to say he is very cool and I've been walking around scared shitless for the last couple weeks because I think I may be falling in love.
The second wish I have, a wish I'm sure many people out there have, is to go to Coachella this year. Good lord, how many years in a row have I been drooling to attend this thing April of spring? So far I've missed Radiohead, Depeche Mode and all these other, wonderful artists at the Indio Polo field. This year I vow not to. I'm only young once, aren't I? I'll be good and not get all fucked up, but I think I really need to just get out of my suburban, school-infested, mundane routine just for a weekend and sit on the grass in the sunshine and listen to some awesome music and be around cool people and especially good friends. So yes, I'm practically praying to God that I please, please can go to Coachella this year.
In other news, I've apparently been commissioned by my gf's at school to test drive the Ooh-La-La Rabbit. For those of you who have no idea what a Rabbit is, refer to season 3 SATC. So yeah, I have this vibrator sitting on the passenger side of my car, disguised stealthily in a Coach shopping bag and box. How did I come to acquire such an inheritance as this? I have no freaking clue! I was just chatting with my gfs in the parking garage when all of a sudden they asked if I wanted a hand-me-down but unused vibrator. I suppose I could have said no... but JC, I haven't gotten laid in like, way too long. And then they pulled it out, and it was the prettiest, most audacious thing I'd ever laid eyes on. It's pearly white with a stippled dome, and it has these really scary, pointed rabbit ears jutting out along the middle of its length. Like, I've never used a vibrator before so I'm rather intimidated by the prospect of trying it out. But the onus is on me to report on its performance to my female counterparts, and I don't want to let them down.
The second wish I have, a wish I'm sure many people out there have, is to go to Coachella this year. Good lord, how many years in a row have I been drooling to attend this thing April of spring? So far I've missed Radiohead, Depeche Mode and all these other, wonderful artists at the Indio Polo field. This year I vow not to. I'm only young once, aren't I? I'll be good and not get all fucked up, but I think I really need to just get out of my suburban, school-infested, mundane routine just for a weekend and sit on the grass in the sunshine and listen to some awesome music and be around cool people and especially good friends. So yes, I'm practically praying to God that I please, please can go to Coachella this year.
In other news, I've apparently been commissioned by my gf's at school to test drive the Ooh-La-La Rabbit. For those of you who have no idea what a Rabbit is, refer to season 3 SATC. So yeah, I have this vibrator sitting on the passenger side of my car, disguised stealthily in a Coach shopping bag and box. How did I come to acquire such an inheritance as this? I have no freaking clue! I was just chatting with my gfs in the parking garage when all of a sudden they asked if I wanted a hand-me-down but unused vibrator. I suppose I could have said no... but JC, I haven't gotten laid in like, way too long. And then they pulled it out, and it was the prettiest, most audacious thing I'd ever laid eyes on. It's pearly white with a stippled dome, and it has these really scary, pointed rabbit ears jutting out along the middle of its length. Like, I've never used a vibrator before so I'm rather intimidated by the prospect of trying it out. But the onus is on me to report on its performance to my female counterparts, and I don't want to let them down.
3.02.2006
Been on spring break this week and have been making a point to go out and do some of the things i would normally not have time to do but love to do anyway. Among these things was visiting Carrie who has aptly returned to west la, gone outlet shopping, to the movies and to spend a little extra time with the little one. Oh, and I've switched back to hard contact lenses and it feels oh-so-good.
Had a nice lunch with carrie at a real classy joint called joe's over in venice. It was strange and yet at the same time familiar to find myself on that side of town again. It's amazing what a few years in the burbs will do to your recognition of the place. Is Barrington east or west of the 405? Where on earth is there a good breakfast place around there? Still, some things never change like the great conversations I can have with one of my favorite gals. Meeting up is such a rare event these days that it's like watching each other's live in super-slow motion. Not a lot changes over the years other than the men who walk in and out of our lives. Always the conversation strays backwards, like that time so many years ago I flicked a cigarette at a bum outside of MAdison's, probably burning his only jacket. Btw, i heard that place is no longer open. And so there ends an icon of one of the sleaziest places I ever had the fortune of frequenting.
Rushed to the ECC to pick up my RGPs that night then went home to admire the BCBGirls creme pumps I had picked up for $40 the day before. The next day I made it a point to go to the movies. The last movie I'd seen before that was Potter 4 and then before that was Batman. The first thing I noticed walking into the cinema at 1 o' clock in the afternoon was that strong scent of fake butter as you walk by the concession. Can you imagine being deprived of the movies for so long that the whiff of fake butter could stop you in your tracks? It did, it really did, the smell slapped me in the face and said, "Sher, you need to get out more." It's true. I walked into my theatre to the left, Theatre 5 and spaced myself among the 10 or so moviegoers who were scattered among the stadium seating. At about 2:00 was another mother of a young baby, but unlike myself she did not see it necessary to leave the baby at home. So what movie did I go to see? Brokeback Mountain. I'm telling you, I was too intrigued not to. I kept wondering to myself why the hell this lady would want to bring her baby in to see Brokeback Mountain. Her poor child kept crying and thankfully they left before the movie started. I won't go through the trouble of coming up with a synopsis because the plot isn't all that easy to summarize. it's left a deep impression on me and 36 hours later I still find myself sighing and pondering over it on atleast a semi-hourly basis. Beautiful cinematography, a brilliant acoustic score (simple, resonant, haunting), and painfully well-acted, this is a modern day Romeo and Juliet that, in spite of it's homosexual underpinnings, is a hundred times more relevant and tragic than it's Shakespearian ancestry. Go watch it, alone if you have to as I did and most of Brokeback's audience does I'd imagine.
Amelie has bronchitis. Came down with a fever of 102 last night and is now being treated with Albuterol, amoxicillin and tylenol. Man, she and I have been sick since the new year. So I guess I won't be going snowboarding tomorrow. That was the last item on my fairly well checked-off list of things to do. That and Ikea. Oh, and getting a massage, but I got a massage last week so I supposed I can do without one for this week. That's alright - I can double check-off the "Spend more time w. Amelie" item.
I love vacation.
Had a nice lunch with carrie at a real classy joint called joe's over in venice. It was strange and yet at the same time familiar to find myself on that side of town again. It's amazing what a few years in the burbs will do to your recognition of the place. Is Barrington east or west of the 405? Where on earth is there a good breakfast place around there? Still, some things never change like the great conversations I can have with one of my favorite gals. Meeting up is such a rare event these days that it's like watching each other's live in super-slow motion. Not a lot changes over the years other than the men who walk in and out of our lives. Always the conversation strays backwards, like that time so many years ago I flicked a cigarette at a bum outside of MAdison's, probably burning his only jacket. Btw, i heard that place is no longer open. And so there ends an icon of one of the sleaziest places I ever had the fortune of frequenting.
Rushed to the ECC to pick up my RGPs that night then went home to admire the BCBGirls creme pumps I had picked up for $40 the day before. The next day I made it a point to go to the movies. The last movie I'd seen before that was Potter 4 and then before that was Batman. The first thing I noticed walking into the cinema at 1 o' clock in the afternoon was that strong scent of fake butter as you walk by the concession. Can you imagine being deprived of the movies for so long that the whiff of fake butter could stop you in your tracks? It did, it really did, the smell slapped me in the face and said, "Sher, you need to get out more." It's true. I walked into my theatre to the left, Theatre 5 and spaced myself among the 10 or so moviegoers who were scattered among the stadium seating. At about 2:00 was another mother of a young baby, but unlike myself she did not see it necessary to leave the baby at home. So what movie did I go to see? Brokeback Mountain. I'm telling you, I was too intrigued not to. I kept wondering to myself why the hell this lady would want to bring her baby in to see Brokeback Mountain. Her poor child kept crying and thankfully they left before the movie started. I won't go through the trouble of coming up with a synopsis because the plot isn't all that easy to summarize. it's left a deep impression on me and 36 hours later I still find myself sighing and pondering over it on atleast a semi-hourly basis. Beautiful cinematography, a brilliant acoustic score (simple, resonant, haunting), and painfully well-acted, this is a modern day Romeo and Juliet that, in spite of it's homosexual underpinnings, is a hundred times more relevant and tragic than it's Shakespearian ancestry. Go watch it, alone if you have to as I did and most of Brokeback's audience does I'd imagine.
Amelie has bronchitis. Came down with a fever of 102 last night and is now being treated with Albuterol, amoxicillin and tylenol. Man, she and I have been sick since the new year. So I guess I won't be going snowboarding tomorrow. That was the last item on my fairly well checked-off list of things to do. That and Ikea. Oh, and getting a massage, but I got a massage last week so I supposed I can do without one for this week. That's alright - I can double check-off the "Spend more time w. Amelie" item.
I love vacation.
2.26.2006
Wow. It's been almost a year since I used this thing. It's surprising that I'm actually capable of putting something off for that long.
Where did I go? Is it true that women go brain-dead after they have children? Good Lord, does anyone even bother to read this page anymore?
Well if some people don't, I'm glad. It's always been a little distressing knowing that I frequently pour my heart onto this page to mere acquaintances. Complete strangers I don't care about and the few good friends that love me anyway are in fact my target audience. Blogging is a rather self-absorbed hobby that I don't always feel comfortable indulging in inanonymously (karen, is that a word? well if it's not it should be). I had a friend in college who loved to write and would mass-email reams of his random thoughts and questions about life and philosophy to like a hundred people and although we were best friends I had to ask him to take me off of his spam list because his emails were so torturous and long winded. We don't talk anymore. It was a case where we crossed the boundaries of friendship and things were never the same again. I don't think he really ever forgave me.
When you get to be my age (I'm an ancient 25 - ancient because you're only as old as you feel) you become scared, or rather I've become scared that if I don't document my past it will be gone forever, left only to the archives of my own memory that are seldom open to inspection. So I mean to write things down feverishly now, to capture the girl in me that is quickly fading into night, before she is gone forever.
Where does your carefree spirit go when you finally have children? Where does the traveler, the badass, the crass humorist go? Right now it all goes to Amelie. I stand by her as many minutes in the day as I can to show her when to run ahead of me and when to use restraint. I pull her socks off every night and laught at her stinky feet. Her legs are fabulous - bulky in all the right spots and sturdy. She runs so fast now I can't keep up with her. She's small with an enormous belly that juts out in front of her when she walks, pulling the rest of her tiny body behind it. The look in her eyes often tells me she is analyzing things way too much and doesn't have much of an easygoing personality. She can sing and dance now, and pronounces "more" with impressive clarity.
Still, where have I gone in all of this? I must confess this now (for documentation's sake) that right now I just don't know. Since school has started I have had not time for anything but school and motherhood. I hardly have time for myself much less friends or dates or blogging for that matter.
I tended to think, growing up, that the transition into adulthood would be smooth and effortless, a gradual evolution. I never thought it would be in my case, an abrupt departure, like saying goodbye to the girl you knew and loved as she sailed to an unknown destination across the sea. Like a friend, you'd keep her memory close to you and her secrets safely locked away as you yourself aged - waiting until the day she'll return.
Where did I go? Is it true that women go brain-dead after they have children? Good Lord, does anyone even bother to read this page anymore?
Well if some people don't, I'm glad. It's always been a little distressing knowing that I frequently pour my heart onto this page to mere acquaintances. Complete strangers I don't care about and the few good friends that love me anyway are in fact my target audience. Blogging is a rather self-absorbed hobby that I don't always feel comfortable indulging in inanonymously (karen, is that a word? well if it's not it should be). I had a friend in college who loved to write and would mass-email reams of his random thoughts and questions about life and philosophy to like a hundred people and although we were best friends I had to ask him to take me off of his spam list because his emails were so torturous and long winded. We don't talk anymore. It was a case where we crossed the boundaries of friendship and things were never the same again. I don't think he really ever forgave me.
When you get to be my age (I'm an ancient 25 - ancient because you're only as old as you feel) you become scared, or rather I've become scared that if I don't document my past it will be gone forever, left only to the archives of my own memory that are seldom open to inspection. So I mean to write things down feverishly now, to capture the girl in me that is quickly fading into night, before she is gone forever.
Where does your carefree spirit go when you finally have children? Where does the traveler, the badass, the crass humorist go? Right now it all goes to Amelie. I stand by her as many minutes in the day as I can to show her when to run ahead of me and when to use restraint. I pull her socks off every night and laught at her stinky feet. Her legs are fabulous - bulky in all the right spots and sturdy. She runs so fast now I can't keep up with her. She's small with an enormous belly that juts out in front of her when she walks, pulling the rest of her tiny body behind it. The look in her eyes often tells me she is analyzing things way too much and doesn't have much of an easygoing personality. She can sing and dance now, and pronounces "more" with impressive clarity.
Still, where have I gone in all of this? I must confess this now (for documentation's sake) that right now I just don't know. Since school has started I have had not time for anything but school and motherhood. I hardly have time for myself much less friends or dates or blogging for that matter.
I tended to think, growing up, that the transition into adulthood would be smooth and effortless, a gradual evolution. I never thought it would be in my case, an abrupt departure, like saying goodbye to the girl you knew and loved as she sailed to an unknown destination across the sea. Like a friend, you'd keep her memory close to you and her secrets safely locked away as you yourself aged - waiting until the day she'll return.
8.25.2005
Returning to school is definitely harder than I thought it would be. It's heart-wrenching to be away from Amelie for so many hours, and it's hard making new friends in a class that's already established its cliques. Being at home for a year, surrounded only by loving and caring people (who I had the luxury to screen if need be) has made me slightly more introverted amongst strangers. Even when I muster enough courage to put myself "out there," very few of my classmates are responsive. It seems they are tired of obligatory first week of school-small talk - and frankly, so am I. One can only ask "where are you from?", "what undergrad did you go to?" and "so, do you commute or live around here?" so many times before both the flatness of your voice and complacency in your smile betray how disinterested you truly are.
School. Ugh.
School. Ugh.
5.31.2005
5.08.2005
4.22.2005
HAPPY EARTH DAY!
I heard a staggering statistic today: 100 million trees are felled each year to send us junk mail each year. That's horrible, especially since junk mail is really more of a nuisance than anything.
Consider calling (888)567-8688 or going to www.optoutprescreen.com to have your name removed from pre-approved credit card mailings. This will save plenty of trees from being chopped down and possibly your credit from going down the drain.
Here's more information on how to eliminate junk mail . In this day and age of massive consumption and waste, it's increasingly difficult to be conscientious about our impact on this planet, and it's sad that we have to limit our good efforts to one day out of the entire year. Hopefully we can encourage one another throughout the year to live simply and resist buying things that will supposedly make us happier, when in the end too many possessions bog our spirits down rather than lift us up. I happen to believe most of us enjoy so many amenities that things like technology (i.e. cell phones, driving, computers, tv, digicams) work to complicate our lives unnecessarily. I know I'm probably one of the worst. I'm the kind of girl that will go into Target with the intention to buy some cotton balls but wind up spending over a hundred dollars in Stuff that eerily blends into the rest of the Stuff I've accumulated over the years.
As far as man has disconnected himself from the Earth, since the advent of agriculture to the laying down of thick slabs of concrete he has smothered the soil with, it is easy to forget the Earth is our home. Let's revere her today and celebrate all the great gifts and wonderful memories we've had with her, and resolve to do our part. Happy Earth Day everyone!
I heard a staggering statistic today: 100 million trees are felled each year to send us junk mail each year. That's horrible, especially since junk mail is really more of a nuisance than anything.
Consider calling (888)567-8688 or going to www.optoutprescreen.com to have your name removed from pre-approved credit card mailings. This will save plenty of trees from being chopped down and possibly your credit from going down the drain.
Here's more information on how to eliminate junk mail . In this day and age of massive consumption and waste, it's increasingly difficult to be conscientious about our impact on this planet, and it's sad that we have to limit our good efforts to one day out of the entire year. Hopefully we can encourage one another throughout the year to live simply and resist buying things that will supposedly make us happier, when in the end too many possessions bog our spirits down rather than lift us up. I happen to believe most of us enjoy so many amenities that things like technology (i.e. cell phones, driving, computers, tv, digicams) work to complicate our lives unnecessarily. I know I'm probably one of the worst. I'm the kind of girl that will go into Target with the intention to buy some cotton balls but wind up spending over a hundred dollars in Stuff that eerily blends into the rest of the Stuff I've accumulated over the years.
As far as man has disconnected himself from the Earth, since the advent of agriculture to the laying down of thick slabs of concrete he has smothered the soil with, it is easy to forget the Earth is our home. Let's revere her today and celebrate all the great gifts and wonderful memories we've had with her, and resolve to do our part. Happy Earth Day everyone!
4.18.2005
4.01.2005
I DREAM OF NUCLEAR APOCALYPSE
Brighter than a thousand suns... It's a recurring dream. The first time I was standing on a bridge that connected two amber skyscraper hotels, just as the sun was about to set. I saw a giant aluminum-encased missile fly past me and I knew then and there that I was about to die. Scared shitless, I hid myself in a room and ducked behind some sort of partition but the sound of impact was deafening and as I braced myself for my imminent death I could hear myself screaming as I felt and smelled the flesh of my body burn.
Two or three nights... maybe up to a week ago. I am in my backyard with Karen, Amelie and my dad. It's the morning and we're watching the birds and the fish, like I do with my dad every morning. Karen is holding Amelie. Out of the corner of my eye I see a bomb shoot across the friendly skyscape and I know we will all die in the twinkling of an eye. I grab a hold of my father because he is the body closest to me and push him to the ground, bracing my body for the impact but not before I tell him that I love him.
What is it that I'm afraid of? Today Terry Schiavo died and I hope she now rests in peace. Dignity compels me to affirm that I would rather go naturally than be sustained by a machine, but the truth is that I am afraid to die. Can I honestly say I'd rather walk into the infinite abyss of death than linger here on earth for as long as I can?
Perhaps this dream is telling me that life is too short and I better let people know how much I love them, before it is too late. Or myabe my dreams of a by-product of 9-11, exacerbated by how the press uses fear to influence public opinion in support of god-only-knows. Why would I experience something so intense and real in my dreams? I've had dreams of death since I was a little girl, presumably because my mother died... but I simply took for granted until now that maybe everyone had these kinds of dreams. That's what nightmares are, aren't they?
Feedback would be appreciated...
Brighter than a thousand suns... It's a recurring dream. The first time I was standing on a bridge that connected two amber skyscraper hotels, just as the sun was about to set. I saw a giant aluminum-encased missile fly past me and I knew then and there that I was about to die. Scared shitless, I hid myself in a room and ducked behind some sort of partition but the sound of impact was deafening and as I braced myself for my imminent death I could hear myself screaming as I felt and smelled the flesh of my body burn.
Two or three nights... maybe up to a week ago. I am in my backyard with Karen, Amelie and my dad. It's the morning and we're watching the birds and the fish, like I do with my dad every morning. Karen is holding Amelie. Out of the corner of my eye I see a bomb shoot across the friendly skyscape and I know we will all die in the twinkling of an eye. I grab a hold of my father because he is the body closest to me and push him to the ground, bracing my body for the impact but not before I tell him that I love him.
What is it that I'm afraid of? Today Terry Schiavo died and I hope she now rests in peace. Dignity compels me to affirm that I would rather go naturally than be sustained by a machine, but the truth is that I am afraid to die. Can I honestly say I'd rather walk into the infinite abyss of death than linger here on earth for as long as I can?
Perhaps this dream is telling me that life is too short and I better let people know how much I love them, before it is too late. Or myabe my dreams of a by-product of 9-11, exacerbated by how the press uses fear to influence public opinion in support of god-only-knows. Why would I experience something so intense and real in my dreams? I've had dreams of death since I was a little girl, presumably because my mother died... but I simply took for granted until now that maybe everyone had these kinds of dreams. That's what nightmares are, aren't they?
Feedback would be appreciated...
3.15.2005
Amelie and I are doing very well. In fact, today she is
five months old. Dude, time flies. and guess what? A couple of days
ago she sprouted her first pearly white. I was so proud I nearly
cried! hahaa, weird huh? I was really excited until she started biting
my nipples after eating and laughing about it, like the look of horror
on my face was the funniest thing in the world. Aiyah, babies. So
yeah, we're doing good. I decided that she's old enough to fall asleep
by herself. You know I used to hold her all the time and rock her and
baby her, but she's a big baby now and I've decided I can handle a
little more crying if it means she'll get a good, resorative nap and I
get a bit more personal time.
five months old. Dude, time flies. and guess what? A couple of days
ago she sprouted her first pearly white. I was so proud I nearly
cried! hahaa, weird huh? I was really excited until she started biting
my nipples after eating and laughing about it, like the look of horror
on my face was the funniest thing in the world. Aiyah, babies. So
yeah, we're doing good. I decided that she's old enough to fall asleep
by herself. You know I used to hold her all the time and rock her and
baby her, but she's a big baby now and I've decided I can handle a
little more crying if it means she'll get a good, resorative nap and I
get a bit more personal time.
3.03.2005
Okay update, update...
It's pretty sad I don't have very much to write about these days. If you were to ask how I was doing, first I would go into a spiel about how Amelie is doing wonderfully and is growing at the speed of a dandelion and that she is behaving well although she does give me a hard time every half hour or so. Then I might go into certain relations with certain people and share my pleasure that I seem to be getting along with them so very well as of late. And then a minute after the question was posed I'd quite run out of things to say about myself and dive into the latest gossip concerning family, friends and mostly acquaintances. The latter portion of our talk would constitute the majority of my update and before long I'd ask questions about you.
---But you probably don't want to read that crap. Allow me do what I have not done in some time and reflect out loud:
I received an envelope for Valentines Day, filled with pictures from when I backpacked across Europe one summer four years ago. It made me misty eyed.
Amelie makes the greatest gestures with her bright pink lips. She has my eyes and I know this because her right eye is a little squintier than her left. For the last two days she's burst into tears everytime I'd leave the room.
Sometimes I laugh with her. Sometimes I sing to her. I've read her "The Runaway Bunny" more times than I can count. I've shouted at her a handful of times and spanked her butt twice. The idea of leaving her for school this fall makes me ill.
Someone died in the house across the street. Either a suicide or murder, probably a murder. Last night I saw my next door neighbor get assaulted after dark as I was looking out my window. I'm beginning to think my neighborhood is not as safe as it looks.
I am still in unrequited love. (now more than ever?) Can't bring myself to have casual "relations" to "get over it." (<---- Was my NY resolution) but have been pretty good about ignoring my feelings. Time can change everything... a new season of my life.
One best friend is getting ready to revisit two continents. Another is returning home from the other side of the planet. Yet another is in relationship woe. I however have been lacking in "relations" for nearly a year.
Why is it so easy to believe that there's someone out there for your friends but so damn hard to believe someone's out there for you?
I spend my waking hours dreaming of my first home. It is cozy with wooden floors, crown molding, and no popcorn cielings. It will be the perfect marriage of function and beauty, and Amelie and I will live happily there.
---The matters of my life that are near and dear to my heart. They don't seem to drip out of me at a steady flow but instead come gushing all at once.
It's pretty sad I don't have very much to write about these days. If you were to ask how I was doing, first I would go into a spiel about how Amelie is doing wonderfully and is growing at the speed of a dandelion and that she is behaving well although she does give me a hard time every half hour or so. Then I might go into certain relations with certain people and share my pleasure that I seem to be getting along with them so very well as of late. And then a minute after the question was posed I'd quite run out of things to say about myself and dive into the latest gossip concerning family, friends and mostly acquaintances. The latter portion of our talk would constitute the majority of my update and before long I'd ask questions about you.
---But you probably don't want to read that crap. Allow me do what I have not done in some time and reflect out loud:
I received an envelope for Valentines Day, filled with pictures from when I backpacked across Europe one summer four years ago. It made me misty eyed.
Amelie makes the greatest gestures with her bright pink lips. She has my eyes and I know this because her right eye is a little squintier than her left. For the last two days she's burst into tears everytime I'd leave the room.
Sometimes I laugh with her. Sometimes I sing to her. I've read her "The Runaway Bunny" more times than I can count. I've shouted at her a handful of times and spanked her butt twice. The idea of leaving her for school this fall makes me ill.
Someone died in the house across the street. Either a suicide or murder, probably a murder. Last night I saw my next door neighbor get assaulted after dark as I was looking out my window. I'm beginning to think my neighborhood is not as safe as it looks.
I am still in unrequited love. (now more than ever?) Can't bring myself to have casual "relations" to "get over it." (<---- Was my NY resolution) but have been pretty good about ignoring my feelings. Time can change everything... a new season of my life.
One best friend is getting ready to revisit two continents. Another is returning home from the other side of the planet. Yet another is in relationship woe. I however have been lacking in "relations" for nearly a year.
Why is it so easy to believe that there's someone out there for your friends but so damn hard to believe someone's out there for you?
I spend my waking hours dreaming of my first home. It is cozy with wooden floors, crown molding, and no popcorn cielings. It will be the perfect marriage of function and beauty, and Amelie and I will live happily there.
---The matters of my life that are near and dear to my heart. They don't seem to drip out of me at a steady flow but instead come gushing all at once.
2.13.2005
1.17.2005
I'm still entrenched in my campaign to help Amelie sleep on her own. I've employed the "pick-up, put down" method - that is I leave Amelie to lay in her crib or sit in a carseat as long as I can. When she cries I pick her up and soothe her, but I put her back down the minute she stops crying. This is the English nanny approach and it's produced results already. I can put her down for a good amount of time before she starts calling for me to hold her. However to get her to sleep on her own I do have to let her cry it out a bit. I sit patiently over her crib, hold her wee hands and tell her that I'm not going to leave her. Basically give her verbal reassurance for whatever it's worth to a baby that can't talk yet. Eventually she'll fall asleep from what seems like sheer exxhaustion as she lowers her tear-drenched eyelids and drifts off to sleep. Inevitably she'll jerk in her sleep and wake herself up terrified, so I make sure to swaddle her as she approaches dreamland.
I have doubts about my methodology. This English nanny approach is more middle-of-the-road than others I've read about. While I can put her down for longer amounts of time she seems even more terrified of falling asleep than usual. When I place her in her crib she holds on tightly to my arm and when she cries and I don't pick her up immediately she seems so terrified. Hyperventilation, tremors, the whole deal. I want to take it slowly, e.g. expecting her to sleep on her own only once a day this week and then perhaps more next week, but I wonder if letting her sleep in my arms at all is working against what I'm trying to accomplish, like trying to break a bad habit that I'm concurrently reinforcing. On the other hand, I want to hold her in her sleep occasionally and maybe she still needs and can benefit from that kind of closeness with me. OR maybe I'm simply prolonging her suffering and should let her cry it out completely, get all the expectations out of her system and simply Ferberize this baby already!
It's like I have an English nanny, Dr. Sears and Ferber himself (if in fact Ferber is an actual man) all sitting on my shoulder and arguing.
Perhaps mothering all comes down to instinct. In the end there will always be a book that says what you are doing is wrong (each book gives harrowing accounts of sorry, worn out parents who didn't follow their rules) and there will always be a book that will tell you what you are doing is right. Nobody can tell you what is the right way to care for your baby except for yourself. I most naturally fall into the Sears method of attachment parenting but 3 mos. into being a mom, my one buff Popeye arm is telling me that I can't carry Amelie all of the time and I can't just give in every time my baby cries.
It's three months already! Can you believe it? I read this wonderful passage from "The Baby Whisperer" that you should all take to heart once you have children:
"Taking care of a baby is but a tiny blip on the radar of life - clear, sharp and sadly irretrievable." So no matter how much I complain I'll say it now and again: I simply love being Amelie's mother. She is so incredible and I feel blessed with the time off of school to really give my all to her. Don't let me scare you with my stories of how much I wish I could smoke and escape because I know now that this is a much higher calling. I know I talk about this kid so much but hey, it's great and I love it.
I have doubts about my methodology. This English nanny approach is more middle-of-the-road than others I've read about. While I can put her down for longer amounts of time she seems even more terrified of falling asleep than usual. When I place her in her crib she holds on tightly to my arm and when she cries and I don't pick her up immediately she seems so terrified. Hyperventilation, tremors, the whole deal. I want to take it slowly, e.g. expecting her to sleep on her own only once a day this week and then perhaps more next week, but I wonder if letting her sleep in my arms at all is working against what I'm trying to accomplish, like trying to break a bad habit that I'm concurrently reinforcing. On the other hand, I want to hold her in her sleep occasionally and maybe she still needs and can benefit from that kind of closeness with me. OR maybe I'm simply prolonging her suffering and should let her cry it out completely, get all the expectations out of her system and simply Ferberize this baby already!
It's like I have an English nanny, Dr. Sears and Ferber himself (if in fact Ferber is an actual man) all sitting on my shoulder and arguing.
Perhaps mothering all comes down to instinct. In the end there will always be a book that says what you are doing is wrong (each book gives harrowing accounts of sorry, worn out parents who didn't follow their rules) and there will always be a book that will tell you what you are doing is right. Nobody can tell you what is the right way to care for your baby except for yourself. I most naturally fall into the Sears method of attachment parenting but 3 mos. into being a mom, my one buff Popeye arm is telling me that I can't carry Amelie all of the time and I can't just give in every time my baby cries.
It's three months already! Can you believe it? I read this wonderful passage from "The Baby Whisperer" that you should all take to heart once you have children:
"Taking care of a baby is but a tiny blip on the radar of life - clear, sharp and sadly irretrievable." So no matter how much I complain I'll say it now and again: I simply love being Amelie's mother. She is so incredible and I feel blessed with the time off of school to really give my all to her. Don't let me scare you with my stories of how much I wish I could smoke and escape because I know now that this is a much higher calling. I know I talk about this kid so much but hey, it's great and I love it.
1.14.2005
My head utterly spins when I try to devise a plan to get Amelie to sleep on her own. Nobody ever told me this before I had a child, but it seems that many children do not know how to sleep on their own. I've read that it's something that is learned naturally, like walking, but not a skill that people are born with.
A lot of people, especially men, tell me to simply leave her in her crib and let her cry it out. It makes perfect sense, and there is quite a bit of literature supporting this method of "sleep training." Doing it is not quite as easy as it sounds. First of all, there is no way you can ignore a crying baby, not your own or anyone else's. There is a trigger in our brains that tell a mother to come running when their baby is crying. That's why this method is often called the hardest, but perhaps the most effective because sleep problems will melt away in less time and therefore produce less crying in the long run. This method also claims that babies will get better sleep, and therefore will be more refreshed and ready to learn when they're awake.
An opposing theory advocates that babies are new to this world and need to be nurtured and held nearly as often as they would like. This is called "attachment parenting" and is probably most in line with what I've been employing as a mother. I carry Amelie all the time, I sleep with the little darling by my side and I pretty much do whatever I can to soothe the little monster. I love it most of the time, but you can imagine how tiring it is to carry my fat little baby around, especially when I need to do things around the house (like eat and shower and my laundry). I have no problems putting her to bed at night, but during the day she is forever fussing and dropping off to sleep in my arms, only to wake up again at her displeasure. I feel that for all the hard work I'm putting in, she's hardly a happy little baby and not getting a really full rest.
Finally, there's a middle of the road approach that requires you to pick up your baby and soothe them when they are crying, but by all means to put them down when they have stopped and to make sure they are sleeping independently at a young age. Truthfully this is the hardest and probably requires the most patience. It's hard on many levels - it really makes you assess what it is you're doing that is reinforcing the baby's undesirable behavior and to own up to teaching the baby her bad habits. In addition, picking up a baby over a hundred times in the course of a night to teach it how to sleep on its own sounds hard and pretty ridiculous. I would just as soon let the baby sleep soundly by my side, and I do. But if I don't do it this way, which is to say sensitively and consistently, and garner all my patience, then I only have myself to blame.
Can you see why my head is spinning?
I'm telling you, parenting is a lot more complicated than just feeding, playing and changing diapers. 80% of my brain is perpetually contemplating just how I will put Amelie to sleep next. Good God, I'm tired and I need a massage. There's a horrible knot in my left shoulder that I'm sure will take several trips to a masseuse to knead out of me.
A lot of people, especially men, tell me to simply leave her in her crib and let her cry it out. It makes perfect sense, and there is quite a bit of literature supporting this method of "sleep training." Doing it is not quite as easy as it sounds. First of all, there is no way you can ignore a crying baby, not your own or anyone else's. There is a trigger in our brains that tell a mother to come running when their baby is crying. That's why this method is often called the hardest, but perhaps the most effective because sleep problems will melt away in less time and therefore produce less crying in the long run. This method also claims that babies will get better sleep, and therefore will be more refreshed and ready to learn when they're awake.
An opposing theory advocates that babies are new to this world and need to be nurtured and held nearly as often as they would like. This is called "attachment parenting" and is probably most in line with what I've been employing as a mother. I carry Amelie all the time, I sleep with the little darling by my side and I pretty much do whatever I can to soothe the little monster. I love it most of the time, but you can imagine how tiring it is to carry my fat little baby around, especially when I need to do things around the house (like eat and shower and my laundry). I have no problems putting her to bed at night, but during the day she is forever fussing and dropping off to sleep in my arms, only to wake up again at her displeasure. I feel that for all the hard work I'm putting in, she's hardly a happy little baby and not getting a really full rest.
Finally, there's a middle of the road approach that requires you to pick up your baby and soothe them when they are crying, but by all means to put them down when they have stopped and to make sure they are sleeping independently at a young age. Truthfully this is the hardest and probably requires the most patience. It's hard on many levels - it really makes you assess what it is you're doing that is reinforcing the baby's undesirable behavior and to own up to teaching the baby her bad habits. In addition, picking up a baby over a hundred times in the course of a night to teach it how to sleep on its own sounds hard and pretty ridiculous. I would just as soon let the baby sleep soundly by my side, and I do. But if I don't do it this way, which is to say sensitively and consistently, and garner all my patience, then I only have myself to blame.
Can you see why my head is spinning?
I'm telling you, parenting is a lot more complicated than just feeding, playing and changing diapers. 80% of my brain is perpetually contemplating just how I will put Amelie to sleep next. Good God, I'm tired and I need a massage. There's a horrible knot in my left shoulder that I'm sure will take several trips to a masseuse to knead out of me.
