When it begins like this:
Your alarm clock goes off. Half asleep, you reach out towards the night table, grabbing the remote control for your television. Then you keep pressing the MUTE button on in order to stop the sound of sirens coming from your alarm clock.
* May 10th, 2008: JCH’s 12 Birthday + Family & Friends Photo Set*
Very, Very, Very….Busy, Busy, Busy, Weekend.
I did not have any time to ‘write’ a post (or work on the book). But I did have a fabulous time with my family. While I am working out a post that will be something worth reading…please feel free to take a gander at these.
I hope that Every Mother: would be mother, soon to be mother, new mothers, long time mothers, grand mothers, pseudo mutha’s, and ‘baby mamas’ (world wide) have the pleasure of enjoying…
The Best Mothers Day Weekend. EVER.
For some laughs and good reasons as to WHY you should call your mother click here.
On a personal note, I will be spending the next few exciting fun-filled days with my family and close friends. However, for me this is going to be a bittersweet weekend.
I have cause for celebration, as it is my sons 12th birthday *gasp* on Saturday, followed by Mothers Day *whee* on Sunday. On the other hand, it is also that time of year when I find myself grieving over the loss of my Grandmother ‘Manga’. This is the 2nd anniversary of her passing. I will be taking some extra personal time to remember My Manga and Her Dash.
I am so inspired by that video; I am trying to figure out just how I want to live out the rest of My Own Dash.
Remember. Tomorrow Is Promised To No One.
Happy (Early) Mothers Day!
My son is turning 12.
What?
When and how did this happen?
JCH will be 12 years old this Saturday at exactly 11:18 am on May 10th, 2008.
By the time you finish reading this post, JCH will probably be a whole lot closer to nineteen. (Or retirement, depending on how quickly you read.)
My son has long since been my baby. He has been an official pre-teen with a complete set of raging hormones since the day he turned 10.
As I sit here today, reflecting upon the last 12 years of my life as a mother and how much we both have grown, I am flooded with memories and emotions.
As cliché as this might sound, it really seems ‘Just Like Yesterday’ when my boy arrived unto this world. Weighing in at a healthy 9 pounds 14 oz, and 21 inches long. I remember the very first time I held him in my arms and sang happy birthday to him. I was scared to death. I had no child rearing experiences. I didn’t read any of the books you are supposed to read while pregnant; I had never even babysat for another child. When I looked at this brand new person (the one who had been kicking me all those months) everything was suddenly so wonderful, yet incredibly terrifying.
I don’t know what it is that happens to you, or how it happens to you, I cannot explain it. But from the moment I became a parent, I instinctively knew what to do. I automatically had those magical mommy powers where a simple kiss could make any and every thing better.
Now that he is older, I don’t have quite the same magical powers as I used to. He doesn’t believe in the Tooth Fairy, or Santa Clause anymore. He doesn’t want me to kiss him anymore. There is positively no way I am allowed to hold his hand in public. And, I think we are done with hugs and onto straight up ‘high fives’.
I know it is my job as a parent to prepare my son for the world ahead of him. To teach him responsibility, accountability and independence, so I can let him go, Out Into The World, and become a successful, capable, functioning adult. But sometimes I miss the days when my son was still just my baby boy.
Some of my fondest memories about JCH?
1. The very first time he had a sip of Orange Juice (with pulp). He let the sweet nectar linger in his mouth while swishing the unfamiliar texture on his tongue. And then he spit it out. He leered at my mother and said, “Who Put Feathers In My Orange Juice?”
2. My son had his own pronunciation of words. Instead of saying “Again” he used to say “ooooo-gaaaaaine.” I still smile when I think about that.
3. When JCH was all of three years old, he encountered one of the most evil imaginary friends of all time. His name was “Jackrafire”. ‘Jackrafire’ came from a blue ‘plan-ick’ (not planet, plan-ick) and gave my son the worst nightmares. As much as I loved him climbing into bed with me now and again, every night for two months in a row was more than I could handle. (Surprisingly a three year old can really hog a bed.) After I had enough sleepless nights I decided that this ‘Jackrafire’ character must be destroyed.
I asked JCH to help me make a ‘Magic Potion’ that would send ‘Jackrafire’ back to his blue plan-ick. We spent 45 minutes in the kitchen adding any and everything to the industrial sized blender and then hit puree. We poured the ‘potion’ (which consisted mostly of Worcestershire sauce, eggs, and Tabasco) into the same milk glass used for Santa and his cookies. We left the glass out on the counter just like we would for Santa. I told JCH to go to bed and when ‘Jackrafire’ came to our house that night he would be lured to the ‘Magic Potion’ by the aroma. I promised him ‘Jackrafire’ would drink it, and certainly die from drinking it.
Having heard one too many ‘Jackrafire’ stories, I knew exactly what this imaginary freak looked like. I stayed up half the night making a costume that resembled the likes of ‘Jackrafire’, only to cut it up in tiny pieces so it would look like he melted to death, much like the way the Wicked Witch of the West came to her demise. In the morning my son awoke to a murdered ‘Jackrafire’. “Mommy, it worked WE got rid of him! Look…he’s all melted!”
We never heard from him again.
[Last story – I promise]
4. When JCH was about 4 years old he went on a walk in the woods with my father. My parents live on a golf course so there are wonderful trails, perfect for a nature walk. The two of them used to take adventures in the woods and hunted for golf balls. One part of the trail had a slope that led to a pond. That was a known ‘hot spot’ for stray golf balls that had been hit out of bounds. My father told JCH to stay at the top of the hill and wait for him to return. But JCH hated being left alone. So, he followed his grandpa. Only as JCH was walking down the hill, he was going too fast. So fast that he couldn’t stop. He ran right down the hill and into the pond. He landed smack in the mud. But this wasn’t regular mud. Oh no. JCH thought that he was trapped in quicksand. Quicksand which would swallow him whole. By the time my father made it over to him to engage the rescue mission, it was too late, JCH was already hysterical.
I will never forget exactly what he looked like when my son reappeared from the woods. That image is tattooed to my brain. He was sobbing, covered in mud, with one sock half off and slapping the grass, while the other foot was bare. He ran towards me, arms stretched out towards me, screaming about how he almost just died. “Mommy, (sniff sniff) please hold me, (sniff sniff ) I’m soooo cold, (sniff) and I almost…DIED (sniff sniff sniff) in quicksand. Look, look at my foot…the quicksand ate my shoe and my sock…”
——-
My son doesn’t ‘need me’ like he used to. And that’s okay. That is simply the natural progression of my child evolving into a teenager.
In truth, I will never have another child. I can never go back to: the car seats, the strollers, the 84 hours it takes to pack one diaper bag, the tantrums and time outs, the amount of baby wipes and formula, the pacifier (or loosing the g-ddamned pacifier) the potty training, teething, colic. (Teething and Colic at the same time.) The really high, and really scary fevers, the eye surgery, the broken bones, and the stitches. I don’t want to relive all that yelling, crying, and screaming…. (Oh wait that part was me.) I would not do it all over again, not even for million dollars and not even with a live in nanny. However, I would not trade any of those memories for all the money in the world either.
So yeah, you caught me. I love my son.
I hate to start letting him go, but I can’t wait to see what will happen next!
(I wrote the following letter to my son, to which I am sure he will react with the now famous *eye roll*. So, I will share it with you. Maybe you guys will appreciate it.)
Dear JCH,
Happy Twelfth Birthday!!
I wanted to let you know just how grateful I am to have you in my life since the day you entered this world. While I am glad the days of the missing wooden blocks and ‘Blues Clues’ are over, I miss the days of being your superhero and your adorable tiny fingerprints left on my windows.
Your love never ceases to overwhelm me. Your incredible sense of humor can fix any bad day and I find the utmost joy in the sound of your laughter.
I never deserved you, but I thank G-d for you every day. I am not only a lucky mommy, but I am a better person for knowing you. I know your life has not always been easy, but through your strong spirit, you have managed to overcome huge obstacles and achieved greatness. To say I am proud of you; would be an understatement. I am honored to call you my son.
Now that you are at the beginning stages of becoming a man (*body hair and all*) I wonder if you know who you are? I wonder if you are excited for what lies ahead? I wonder what you will be when you grow up? And I wonder if we will survive the teenage years together?
I sincerely hope all your dreams will become realities. I hope I am here to see them all come true. Don’t be afraid to dream big, remember to laugh often, and love with passion.
But, if you ever get stuck in the mud, or come face to face with a real live ‘Jackrafire’, you can always come back to me “oooogaaaaine”.
I love you forever,
I like you for always,
As long as I’m living
My BABY you’ll be.
I love you
Mommy.
Yep.
I went out Saturday night On A Real Live Date.
(*gasp* heard round the Internet)
I know! I know! This is ground breaking news to most of you. Especially for my sister in law Maya, who is forever pushing me (in a good way) to Get Out There And Start Dating.
For the first time in who knows, I was genuinely nervous. I mean butterflies in my stomach, what am I going to wear, omigod, omigod, nervous.
Side Bar: [I think I was overly nervous because I recently had an epiphany of sorts. I was talking with my mother about my previous relationships with men, when it dawned on me. Mid-sentence I realized, and announced, “Holy shit…I’ve been dating ‘The Same Guy’ over and over, except with a different name! Kurtis, Kevin, Shannon (ect. ect.) have all been ‘The Same Guy’. No wonder why I keep having The Same Outcome.”]
That moment does not sound as prolific as the actual light bulb turning on above my thick skull, but this post is about my date, not about my epiphany.
Let me back up here.
I met ‘This Guy’ approximately 2 years ago while attending a function with a friend of mine. Even though I ‘liked’ him (and he ‘liked’ me) there was a roadblock preventing us from being able to form any kind of relationship beyond the collaboration of ideas for a ‘video’ production. He was already involved with someone.
[Damn.]
However, when I saw him at the same function this year, I happily discovered that he is currently single (and has been for quite some time).
[Sweet!]
From what little I knew about him, I could already tell that he was UNLIKE any other guy I have ever dated over the course of my lifetime. This date was going to be un-chartered territory for me. Thus increasing my level of freaked-out-ness.
Some of you already know I have nothing to wear to the office let alone something to wear on a date. The quest for the perfect 1st date attire began sharply at 1pm on Saturday afternoon. 72,869,451.3 outfit changes later I finally gave up and left my house at 6pm. (5 hours was enough time dedicated to searching for clothes.) I surrendered to never finding the perfect outfit, after figuring out that no matter what I was wearing, I would hate it.
So what did I wear? Well…I don’t think I fall into the 0.02% of the population that can wear ‘The Skinny Jean’ and look good in them. However, The Skinny Jean was the only pant in my closet, which fit into my favorite boots seamlessly. I sucked it up, and sucked it in, and stuffed myself into those jeans.
I showed up at the designated restaurant (early) and I waited…
And waited.
Every minute felt like an hour.
I chose to meet in a restaurant I frequent often, for security purposes. That, and I wanted the comfort of having the home field advantage. Considering the weather was terrible on Saturday night, I did not want to chance driving around in the dark, in the rain, going to a new place, and possibly getting lost. I was anxious enough. I didn’t need the added stress of not knowing where I was or trying to figure out how to get there.
When I arrived, the staff was shocked to see how I was dressed. (I usually go there in my sweat pants, or anything close to pajama like fabrics, no make up on, and my hair in a bun.) I was questioned interrogated by the staff.
“Wow. Look at you! This must be a ‘Special Occasion’.Why are you all dressed up? You look great! But why? Wait!! Are you meeting someone? Do YOU have a DATE?”
“Yes. I have a date.” I said in a small shaky crackling voice.
I gave the bartender and waiters a quick run down about The Date who was on his way. I told them that I didn’t want to seem difficult, or high maintenance, by having to order my dinner with my usual specific demands. (Thanks to crohn’s and my food allergies, eating ‘out’ is quite the challenge to find things on the menu that wont affect me negatively.) I was afraid I might come off as some bratty nuisance. I didn’t want to freak him out or scare him off when ordering a meal by acting like Meg Ryan in that scene from the movie ‘When Harry Met Sally’.
The staff was more than willing to lend a helping hand. (I think they were just as excited to see me On A Date as my sister-in-law). The staff and I sat together to derive a plan. I would be able to order something that wasn’t even on the menu. The waiter and bartended pre-arranged with the cook what to bring me that was food allergy friendly.
(Another reason I chose that location for my 1st date. They are so accommodating. A big “Thank You” goes out to the staff of the ‘KHCC’ for making me feel extremely confident during one of my insecure moments.)
Can you just imagine being on a first date, and having to ask that date to help you find the ‘Epi-pen’ somewhere inside your giant pocket book while you break out into a lovely shade of hives? Well I can. And I did not want that to happen!
Okay, back to The Date.
He as supposed to meet me at 7pm.
I looked at my watch around 7:20 and figured…maybe he is just running late.
I took my cell phone out of my coat pocket and placed it on the table to ensure hearing my phone ring in the event he was lost.
My head was racing….
Am I going to be stood up? Am I going to look like an asshole in front of everyone in the restaurant who knows I am sitting here waiting for this guy to show up?
[Insert every worst fears and doubt]
At 7:45pm, my nerves got the best of me. I broke down and text-messaged:
“On your way?”
To which I received a reply
“ETA 10 minutes”
Whew. * wipes sweat off brows *
I went outside to enjoy a smoke break in order to calm me down. Just as I was about to put the cigarette out, guess who showed up?
The Date!
“Hey! You made it…any trouble finding the place?” I said.
“Well…not really. Although it would have been a lot easier if that main road wasn’t closed…”
“Oh that’s right. I forgot about that! I’m sorry.”
We immediately laughed as he began to describe the challenging task of finding his way to my destination via GPS.
By the time we entered the restaurant all of my fears subsided and I was completely comfortable.
We sat in a cozy corner, quiet enough to hear each other talk. And boy did we talk, and talk, and talk, and talk. It was probably the best 1st date conversation I’ve ever had the pleasure of engaging.
I knew that he was adorable. I knew that he was very smart and a well-educated man. But I did not know how funny he could be. I laughed so hard at one point my cheeks actually hurt. (My face is still sore as I sit here writing this.)
Over the course of the evening I learned:
He is 40 years old (PERFECT)
He has no children (PERFECT)
He has never been married (PERFECT)
He has a great job in NYC as a super smarty technology person (PERFECT)
He is handsome (PERFECT)
He is FUNNY (which literally makes me weak In The Knees)
And
He is definitely different from any man I have ever been with. (PERFECT!!!!!)
[I cannot tell you how refreshing it was to be on a date with someone that was NOT the stereotypical Irish-Hot-Head pounding beer after beer with only two goals in mind: getting into my drawers and/or reaching the sate of complete oblivion.]
We talked, and laughed so much, I lost track of time. We ending the evening by closing the place down.
In the interest of taking things slowly (another 1st for me) I was abnormally awkward about the ‘Good-Night Kiss’.
I am a smoker. He is NOT a smoker. The last thing I wanted to do was smell or taste like ashtray. While we chatted curbside I frantically realized I had forgotten to ‘pack’ gum or mints in my purse.
FUCK!
I leaned in to give him a hug at which point I whispered in his ear, “I’d really like to give you a kiss goodnight, but I just finished a cigarette and I don’t have a remedy to defunk my breath…I don’t want to gross you out.”
To which he laughed, and presented me with Listerine strips.
I put two of them in my mouth…at once.
The firey hell that lingered on my pallet was soooo worth ‘The Ultimate Good Night Kiss’.
FINALLY.
A good night kiss (facial hair free) that would not induce ‘rug burn’…on my face.
[I loathe facial hair…with a passion.]
Yet another bonus (+10 points) for my date.
Without getting into any more specifics or graphic detail (while I have received written approval for this post, some things must remain private –for now) I can state with utmost sincerity, I had the best 1st date…EVER.
I am truly looking forward to taking things slowly, and finding out if there is something worth developing between us.
* fingers crossed *
(I warned ya’ll I was going to write about the traffic.)
We all know That Guy in the Left Lane who has no business being there. And, we all know That Guy who should be sporting a bumper sticker warning “I break for no apparent reason”. We know all about the road raging psychopath that rides up your end, tailgating, flashing headlights, and blowing the horn.
But I digress.
As a fellow driver, traveler of highways far and wide, I think I can speak for all of us, when I say:
“People. Please! Pick A Lane.”
And,
“Please, Pick The Correct Lane.”
* ‘Correct’ being the ‘KEY’ word. *
I am sure everyone here is familiar with ‘The Basic Rules Of Driving’ when it comes to a Multiple Lane Highway.
Right?
Left Lane = Fast Lane.
Middle Lane = Passing and/or Bobbing & Weaving Lane.
(A further explanation to follow)
Right Lane = Slow Lane.
And my personal favorite: Staying In Your Own Lane.
Seems simple enough.
Yes?
Then how come I always manage to be surrounded by all of the people operating vehicles that do NOT know ‘The Basic Rules Of Driving’?
These are the very same people who lack any kind of consideration for The Other Drivers sharing the road. (Like implementing the proper usage of turn signals and/or ‘blinkers’.)
What am I talking about? Oh, just those people who have signaled they will be going towards the RIGHT, but instead, they move over into the LEFT lane.
There are only a few other things that some drivers do which infuriate me as much as improper signaling.
For instance:
Those of you who are afraid to drive next to a concrete divider, may I suggest that you Pick Another Lane. Please. Stop drifting into MY LANE simply because you are frightened by the narrowing width of the road.
I understand sometimes an unforeseen pothole in the road may cause your car jerk in an uncontrolled violent matter, forcing you into another lane against your will. I appreciate those of you who remain calm and regain control over your vehicle in a timely fashion.
But for the life of me, what I will never understand, or fully comprehend is the mentality behind the Middle Lane Mother Fuckers (MLMF).
These are the most dangerous drivers on the road. Why? Because MLMF’s are the ones who are totally unaware that anyone else is on the road with them.
Here is a little secret in your ear.
If you are in the Middle Lane and BOTH the Left Lane & the Right Lane are PASSING YOU on each side, then you are in ‘The Wrong Lane’. In fact, you have now become The Reason that people like me are forced to change lanes in order to get away from you. Either, reconsider your position on the road, or, try tapping the pedal marked for ‘Gasoline’ a tad-bit harder.
I have nothing against the people that choose to drive the exact speed limit of 65 MPH on the NJTPK. That is what the Right Lane is for. Every now and then, an old person, or a new driver will be subject to traveling amongst us. It’s only fair they get to have their Own Lane.
I have nothing against the people that choose to drive 85-100+ MPH on the NJTPK. That is what the Left Lane is for. We’ve all been in a hurry. We’ve all been running late, or in the middle of a real live emergency which calls for excessive speeds. It’s NICE to have a Lane designated for these specific circumstances.
However, the Middle Lane is for one purpose and one purpose only.
The Middle Lane is for The Drivers who are trying to go around whatever douche bag is IN the Left or the Right Lane.
The Middle Lane is designated for people traveling at 70 MPH -80 MPH. I know this is a narrow window of speed differentiation, which might make it tricky for some people on the road to grasp this concept.
But please for the love of the open road, if you cannot adhere to simple protocol, then:
‘Move Bitch, Get Out The Way’.
Personally?
I am a Left Laner. Yes. I speed. A Lot.
When I am working the Left Lane if I see Another Driver flying up behind me, I like to execute Common Courtesy. It’s really very easy to do. I just signal with the proper blinker, change lanes accordingly, and get my car out of their way.
However, if a MLMF happens to be “boxing me in” I find myself in an unfortunate position. On occasion, I have had to ‘Use The Shoulder’ much like the shoulder of a good friend to assist me from a marginally escaping from a full-blown-head-on collision. Kudos to me, for grabbing such a firm hold of the steering wheel, with a cell phone in my hand.
Do not even get me started on the rules of ‘How To Precisely Merge With Out Getting Crushed Into Unrecognizable Pieces Via 18 Wheeler Rolling At Top Speed’. That will have to be an entirely new post done Tutorial Style. Including diagrams and directions for using the acceleration ramp. In the mean time I will give you One Rule Of Thumb. You should already be driving at the same speed as the flow of traffic by the time you reach the end of the acceleration or otherwise known as On Ramp.
In closing, I think if everyone could just follow the basic instructions above, Pick A Lane, AND, Pick The Correct Lane, the world would be a much better place.
Wow. Um.
Whatever Country this came from, THAT kind of ‘situation’ can not be good for anyone suffering from claustrophobia.
(I sincerely hope those people are wearing enough deodorant. And, had the decency to eat a breath mint prior to getting On The Train).
Now that I know who I am, and I know exactly what I want to be, I am going to have to make some changes in my life in order to achieve my goals. The biggest change(s) that I will have to make are with my daily schedule / current routine.
Since I last checked, there are still only 24 hour hours in a day (8 of which I have to dedicate to sleep thanks to my fragile immune system). I have learned I need to be a little bit more selective about choosing how to spend those other 16 waking hours wisely.
Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do about how much of my time (10 hours each day) is hijacked by commuting and that fulltime day job thingy.
(The only good thing about commuting? Using that time to call back the people in my ‘Real Life’ whom I tend to neglect.)
Simply between getting the proper amount of sleep each night and going to work, leaves only 6 hours per week day for me to decide what to do with that time.
Minus One Hour – Dinner With My Family.
Minus One Hour – Quality ‘Family Time’ After Dinner.
(Which includes checking my sons homework and all of us getting together to watch some TV.)
Minus ½ hour to get ‘unready’ at the end of the day: wash my face, brush my teeth, get into my beloved pajamas, set my alarm clock…ect.
Total “Free Time” for me to “Work With” = 3½ hours per week day.
Sounds like a lot right?
Wrong.
I can assure you that a measly 3½ hours is NOT NEARLY ENOUGH time to read and reply to all of my emails (which I love so never stop sending them) swing by everyone’s blogs, leave comments, and construct a new post for this blog.
This past Sunday, I came to the realization that I am never going to finish writing my book if I don’t truly buckle down and start treating that more like ‘a job’. Complete with blocking off specific chunks of time solely for the purposes of directing my efforts, time, and undivided attention towards completion.
(I am not getting any younger over here. And as much as I wish I could transfer what’s in my head onto paper without really working at it, I don’t think any book has ever been written via osmosis.)
-Thus implementing some STRUCTURE in my life has become a necessity. –
While yes, it is true, my writing comes off much better when I am legitimately ‘inspired’ to write. However in this case, I am extremely driven and 100% dedicated to this project. As such, I must act as if my book really is a project. (Like with deadlines, and due dates, and outlines, and All That Jazz.)
As much as it pains me, I don’t think I will be able to keep up with daily posting and working on my book simultaneously. As much as I’d like to suspend the reality of my situation, its going to be entirely too difficult to turn the mundane details of my everyday life into a riveting read, AND, whip out chapters.
I have a very different writing style for the book which takes A LOT out of me. I have to go to That Place where I can remember everything in vivid detail in order to produce sentences that will evoke the reader into feeling the experience.
But…do NOT get me wrong.
I am NOT taking a ‘break from blogging’. I am NOT leaving ‘The Internet’ by any means. I am way too addicted, attached, and involved with my community of kick ass people. And I love it. And I love every single one of you.
But, I think? I am going to TRY MY BEST to refrain from blogging every day. I am going to attempt to only post on a Three Day A Week schedule. Like Monday’s, Wednesday’s & Friday’s?
Unless, of course, something exceptionally ‘blog worthy’ actually occurs.
(Like a ‘Liz Lemon’ moment, or “Vitamin Shot” Wednesday’s, or when I need to complain about the massive traffic, or when I can’t get rid of an annoying hangnail, my split ends, or even stubbing my toe. Yanno the really IMPORTANT stuff like that.)
I am going to try and subdue my incessant urge to post Every Single Day. I am going to hold myself back from filing in the gaps with emailed jokes or posting bullshit posts just to post something. (If that makes any sense?)
Sometimes, I fear that if I don’t post every single day, that I may loose some of the readers I have worked so hard to maintain. On the other hand, I know there are a loyal bunch of you that will stick by my side and continue to read this blog no matter what. And for that I will be forever grateful.
This is not goodbye. This is not a break. This is not an away message.
I am just changing things up a bit.
I will still be HERE. And I will still be popping over to all of your blogs; supporting and laughing with (or in some cases AT) you.
I just need to focus those 3½ hours a day constructively.
And somewhere in the midst of all of this, I need find The Time to actually ‘Live A Little’.
Yeah yeah yeah…The contestants and the singing was blah blah blah and whatever. My regular weekly review is now posted.
But, if you want some Real American Idol News?
Come talk about THAT with me OVER HERE.
Paula, Paula, Paula….What A Mess.
Haven’t you heard by now what she did on LIVE TV last night?
