Monthly Archives: September 2010

Not Cool.

Recently a friend of mine went to Burning Man and had what I can only assume was an insanely over-the-top, memory-making, and slightly illegal time. She was gone for a week, and as the days passed, from time to time I thought of her. Each time I did think of her I (for some reason) pictured a tight rope, some stilts, an occasional tutu, and an enormous amount of glitter. I know she will be happy to hear that. While I was thinking of her I was usually doing something like scooping the motherfucking cat litter (cat animosity), cutting up cantaloupe for the kids, loading the dishwasher, or the ever-thrilling picking my tantruming 2 1/2 year old up off the floor so he doesn’t suffer a concussion. And I realized, in these moments, that I have lost the cool.

Now don’t give me shit for implying that at one time I was cool. I’ve never been Jack White cool or (according to the Google search “coolest woman ever”) Madonna cool. In fact, many people are cooler than I have ever been. Most of them have these edgy haircuts and look all self assured with their neck tattoos, and some of them actually eat fire. For fun. Because, apparently, eating fire can be fun. Eating brownies is fun, especially if they have frosting on top, but fire? Yeah . . .I don’t know about that. But I will say that anytime I have seen Flam Chen (our local fire-eating ladies) I have thought, “they are really fucking cool.” Actually, now that I think of it, I met one of them once and she was kind of a bitch to me and all uppity, even though she was really dirty and seemed to live in an abandoned warehouse with her small child. Suddenly I feel like I need a different example of cool.

I suppose that I have had that moment in life where I’ve realized that, from now on, no matter what, I am a mother. You know what I do to fill up time during the day? I grocery shop. I stalk the house like a caged animal, and while the kids are busy I watch 10 minutes of Veronica Mars (which is a really good show, and since I am lame, I am considering signing the petition for them to make a movie), because I don’t have the kind of time anymore that it takes to watch a movie, and if I am really feeling the time looming? I change my stupid status on Facebook. This is what has become of me. It isn’t that I am without perspective. I realize that I don’t have cancer, I’m not an amputee, I didn’t come from an underprivileged home filled with drugs and violence, neither of my children is ill, and we aren’t on, like, food stamps or anything. It’s just that, suddenly? I’m shopping for Spanx, not getting carded, and penciling in the bake sale at my son’s preschool. It’s all too much!

One of the coolest things that I have done in the last 4 years is once, when Luca had the flu, I actually managed to catch his vomit in my hands as it came out of his mouth. I didn’t even have to mop! Let’s see . . . I popped a rib out holding Luca too much a couple years ago and it hurt like hell, but I guess that could be construed as a little cool? Oh! And I found a spray that actually makes the smell of vomit or pee go away! It’s amazingly cool! I did manage to find a Trilobite and an Icthyosaurus for Rowan on this cool website that specializes in fossils and prehistoric beasts. Super cool. And I guess it is cool that I actually know what those things are. You probably don’t, which means I am a little bit cooler than you in that way. When electricity struck our house last year and killed most of our more beloved appliances, I managed to get a sweet deal on a T.V. at Best Buy when they were out of the one I wanted. That was totally cool. I’m still a C cup. Pretty cool. I managed to drain some spaghetti while nursing one of my kids once and it would have been cool if I hadn’t suffered a steam burn and almost dropped my baby.

But come to think of it, knowing my personality, some of the things that seem cool to me as an outside observer would drive me freaking crazy up close. For one, I don’t really like people all that much, so something like Burning Man would turn me into a twitchy lunatic. Being set on fire is a pretty big fear of mine, so fire-eating sort of loses street cred with me right there. I tried an edgy haircut once when I chopped my bangs really short (have you seen Amelie? She was adorable!), but it made me look bloated and a little slow. There are a lot of cool shows I could go see this fall, but it sort of bugs me to see concerts with a bunch of people that I don’t know but seem to like the same music as me. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it makes me nauseous.

So where does that leave me? I’ll tell you where that leaves me. Sitting next to the boys with my head phones plugged into an episode of Veronica Mars (I swear, it is a really good show!) while they watch  Martha Speaks, cleaning the smoothie off the wall, scheduling play dates, trying to stay up late enough to read a chapter of my book, deciding whether or not I should buy a pressure cooker, not being completely sure I know what a pressure cooker is, and feeling really uncool. And a little bloated. And old. Sigh. Maybe I need to get my hands on some glitter.



Filed under All of them., Children.

Inappropriately Yours.

I am not a good person. Seriously, I’m not. You all can blow smoke up my butt, but I know the truth. I’m inappropriate girl. I wouldn’t be surprised in the least if one of these days, four of my closest friends and a stranger sit me down and start to tell me all the ways that my inappropriateness has affected their lives. The intervention would end with the intervention specialist asking me if I would commit to inpatient treatment and then me  saying something like, “That’s right, bitches! Boo-yah!” or something totally, well, inappropriate.

I am aware that everyone once in a while says things that they regret or feel bad about. Every once in a  while. Then there is me. Today at “muffin mornings” at my son’s preschool, for some reason, I decided to announce to the room that someone else’s husband was “bow-chicka-bow-bow!” Now, to be totally fair, I was talking about the entire family since they are all (kids and wife included) beautiful and I followed it up by making sure that the room knew I also felt this way about my husband—who will be editing this, so, basically, I’m divorced now. Anyway, you see? And the real kicker? The guy I was talking about is okay, but I was totally kidding. I said it for laughs, which I got, because I am hilarious. But there was no need! I could have just told my monkey joke and had the room in stitches! But I chose instead to, well, become inappropriate girl.

I still remember things I said 25 years ago. It’s like an illness! I’m the girl that would say to someone whose loved one has had heart surgery or a heart ailment, “I’m serious as a heart attack!” which is something I have never said before. Ever. You see? Or how about the time that I told two people I had just met that I loved them. I recovered quickly, but still, there was that long moment of silence in between. Just this week, while in a toy store—that is, a store that sells toys, for children—after I found out that the owner opened it when she was 22, I declared (a bit loudly) that at 22 I am pretty sure all I was doing was bong hits. Who wants to count the ways that this is inappropriate?

When I tried wedding dresses, I tried on one that was had an open, scoop back, down to my, um, crack, and I actually told the woman helping me that it made me want to have sex with myself. For reals. Or how about the time I was at Buffalo Exchange and some girls were trying on dresses and I told one of them that she looked hot. Oh! And this chestnut: when I mentioned to a friend that I wanted to lose a little weight but “not too much because I like a little POW in my pooper.” What is up with THAT?

One reason I left the moms’ Meetup group I was in for years is that my edit button literally ceased to exist while I was in the group. I am pretty sure all of the wonderful mothers I have met think I am just a tiny bit insane. I walked into a play date once asking where the keg was. And today, upon hearing that a friend is pregnant with her third child, instead of saying, “congratulations!” I actually asked her if she was crazy. And I infamously started the post on the message board titled, “What Kind Of Crack Was I Smoking? (when I decided to have two kids)”.

I’m going to reread this post and want to shoot myself in the head.

Speaking of heads! I was watching Nightline the other night and they were talking about a new study that shows how people with violent and murderous tendencies have something called neuro-behavorial syndrome. They were showing an image of a “normal” brain next to an image of a “murderous” brain and there was an awful lot of pretty color missing in the “murderous” brain. I wonder . . . maybe I’m brain damaged? Maybe I have neuro-inappropriate syndrome? Should I be studied?

Years ago I was showing a friend my engagement ring and she asked where John got it. It was his Grandma’s engagement ring, a family heirloom. She died years and years ago; I never met her, and I love this ring. It means so much to me that he chose to ask for it (he has three brothers, I’m not sure how I got so lucky as to get it!) and yet, in response to my friend’s question, I answered, “he pried it out of his grandmother’s cold, dead hand.” Right. Now we get down to it. I felt like vomiting the second I said it! I feel like vomiting now! But I said it! Out loud! And then I felt so guilty that I told my fiancé (now, luckily, my husband). He could tell I was shocked at my own awfulness and claimed he didn’t care, but still—I feel terrible that, of all the things to say, I chose that.

So, I’ve decided that I’m going to hell, which is probably for the best. I’m pretty sure they won’t care if I am inappropriate there. Unless of course, there is inpatient treatment for the inability to keep one’s freaking mouth shut. Knowing me? I’d probably tell the leader of the group to suck it.


Filed under Before Children., Children., Confessions.