My Apology to Stay at Home Moms

Originally posted by me at my iVillage Expecting Club shortly after I gave birth to my son Joseph 12/06. I'm keeping it here so I never forget how very wrong I can be about something so very important.

OK I admit it now. Before I had Joseph I used to secretly bemoan all the "whining" moms did. I work full time and I used to get irritated when I heard or read moms complaining about how difficult it is to be a SAHM. I figured - oh sure, many have to work a full 8 hour day, commute, AND do everything you do. I thought they should perhaps consider themselves lucky that they have the choice to stay at home with their babies/kids and quit complaining.

I apologize. I was wrong. I had no idea how difficult the job is.

Don't get me wrong - I've never been happier or more fulfilled. I've never known love so great or strong, nor have I felt the tug of the biological pull that draws me to my son like a magnet and makes me cry so often tears of joy when I see him, hear him, smell him or think of him. My life has been better each and every day since he was born into this world, and I know things will get even better with the passage of time.

But sheeeeeeeeeeeeeyiht! This job never ends! I find myself thinking and saying all of the phrases I've heard and read before and suddenly they make perfect sense. If you haven't been there, you simply can't know. You don't get to step down from "high alert" for one second of the day because your baby might need you. You don't look forward to sleep because you know you won't be getting any. You can't enjoy going out at night and unwinding (aka drinking) because you know you won't be sleeping that night and it will just make things harder on you and your baby. You don't get to schedule your day (or your baby's day) anymore. You TRY. But it doesn't work. You need to learn to do the best you can but leave time and room in your temperament for flexibility. You learn to survive in what feels like a different dimension of an alternate universe due to the complete and total mental and physical exhaustion you feel. Sometimes you sob for 1/2 hour straight because you are trying to take out the trash and wipe the counter because you are expecting company and your baby is crying and it tears at your heart and no matter what you do you can't comfort him. Sometimes you have to just accept that you will not be able to get a darn thing "done" that day besides tend to your baby and see that his needs are met and that he is safe and feels loved.

And then your baby smiles at you. One of those big toothless grins that makes time stop and it feels as though there are sugar-winged butterflies tickling your heart. You sit back with a tear and a smile and hold your baby for a few minutes until you notice another sensation - your stomach is rumbling because you haven't eaten yet today and you don't see that happening any time soon unless you can scrounge up a breakfast bar or a banana.

Moms, if hats didn't make my big fat head look even bigger and fatter I would wear one just so I could tip it to you. Though sometimes you feel inadequate, lonely and unappreciated you put on a smile for your young one(s) and you don't ever give up because you know there isn't anything more important or fulfilling that you could be doing at that moment. You are the essence of the divine.

How Joe fell asleep the other night

His Daddy tucked him in per the norm. Blankie. Every stuffed animal he owns. Books. Shoes. We peeked in before going to bed and this is what we saw.

And yes, he insisted on the red socks.






My sweet little baby boy. I just love everything about him. And he's no more than two.

Would a Tuesday by any other name smell as sweet?

I'm starting to really love my life. (Finally pulled my head out of a very dark place to appreciate the majesty of it!). I have given up the reins of control to the God of Constant Random Aggrivations and Pleasures. That is, if you can give something that never belonged to you in the first place. Oh mighty God of C.R.A.P., here are today's offerings:

1) Another day, another chance to let down Holly Jahangiri

My Holly Alarm

I don't even remember how it got started. I think it happened when Holly got some feature on her Facebook that alerts her cell phone to new posts on her page. She made a comment one day along the lines of "Thanks a lot! Your post woke me up in the middle of the night, HAG!", or something like that, sans commas and whiny undertones. And she didn't call me a hag, I've just always thought that word was funny. Anyway, so we figure out that she's two hours ahead of me, and that no alerts are sent to her after 11pm. So I tell her that she can expect to hear from me at 10:59. You know, lol & that kind of thing. But Holly isn't your average bear. She's going to hold me to my word. I didn't send her a message at 10:59 and the next day she let me have it. Every day since that day I've been trying to make good on my promise, to help restore her faith in humanity. And every day since that day I have failed miserably. Keep the faith, Holly!

2. I have yet to face The Cabinet of Shame

I know. I KNOW.

With the help of my Mother, who came over early yesterday to help me out with the kids and their flu shots, (that I didn't end up doing because Lily was acting a little funny and I didn't want to risk it), I managed to get my fridge, outdoor freezer, pots and pans, and spices organized and sorted through. I also finished three loads of laundry, and made a fresh batch of potato soup. And some other stuff. But did I wake up today feeling good about the accomplishments? No. I woke up feeling happy, but the first thought that popped into my head was The Cabinet of Shame. I need to go through there and toss out about 99% of the carb-laden fat-butt food in there. Most of it is still hanging out from the holidays. And I can feel it. When I walk around the house I feel a big red alarm hitting the side of back of my head as it were. Pulsating, nudging, guiltifying and irritating the C.R.A.P. out of me. I wonder if I will slay the beast today?

3. Some cuteness I walked in on last weekend

Aww

I poked my head into our playroom/office last weekend to find my stepson Denny, who was visiting for the weekend, hanging out with Joe Joe on the stowaway bed, sharing some music. I so rarely get to see them "play" together, and Joe so rarely gets to "play" with anybody other than us old folks, so it just warmed the cockles of my heart. I can't wait to show them this photo when Joe is Denny's age.

4. The first hat I ever knit (does that sound right to you? Knitted? Knut?)

My Sweet Baby Lily

Here it is. The first hat I ever knocked out. Like a couple of weeks ago. Soon to be found on Etsy. Yes, I knit that bad sucker myself and although it may look silly, that's just the tip of the iceberg of hat silliness that I've got planned. And what a LUCKY girl Lily Rose is that she's got a boatload of hat modeling ahead of her. So does my friend Michelle, with her perfect little head and her big eyes, but she doesn't know it yet. I'm going to ease her into the idea. Maybe I'll even do it in such a way that she thinks it IS her idea.

Anyhoo, that's a bit of what I've got going on here. Lots of stuff to get done today. But it's sunny and my kids are silly and hey - life is beautiful. Have a good day!

For Mike K (who thinks crocheting is not "hot")

Okay, so I leave an innocent "what are you doing right now?" update on Facebook yesterday: "Heather is ripping out half of her crochet project because I realized I skipped two rows. Frick!", and it inspired a couple of my snarky friends, (the word snarky stolen from Allison Worthington), to make comments.

One such friend would be Mike K, the husband of my other friend Michelle K (they used to call us the Bobsey Twins - how embarrassing is that? Michelle and me, not Mike and me, but I digress)...

He said, and I'm quoting, "Ya maybe you will make the cover of "Hot Crocheter Quarterly" then who knows where that will go."

Ya Mike, who knows where that will go! Let's find out! Here you go. I'll be the one laughing when you turn on the boob tube and find me sitting and crocheting at Regis Philbin's knee. Heh.

To the masses of people out there who think crocheting is "HOT", I'm here and ready to provide you with product endorsements and testimonials. You won't be laughing when the Hot Crocheter Quarterly swimsuit issue comes out! (Yipes.)

Humor is no joke

People have been asking me why I'm not writing humor too often these days. Here are my thoughts on the eschew. (Get it? Ahahaaa!) *ahem*

1) Why should I be writing humor? I never claimed to be funny. In fact, I'm not.

2) It's hard to write funny stuff when you're happy. Happy people just aren't all that funny. In fact, sometimes they're rather irritating and you just want to slap them. Left to my own devices I'd come in here every morning dressed in a Tinkerbell outfit and write an Ode to Joy. In fact, I may still do that.

3) I'm not funny.

4) The only possibility of being funny for me resides in banter. I need to play off of you. But you're not here. You're selfishly doing your own thing while I'm struggling here to come up with a somewhat amusing post just to appease you. God, the unfairness of that just makes me want to spit.

5) I could try to write funny stuff about my life, but then I'd feel like a jerk. Whenever I write about the kids I see comments here and there about how it's mean to write about your kids because some day like 15 years from now somebody they know may see that post about Joe holding a piece of poop in his fist and he won't be able to find a date to the prom. I don't need more reasons to feel Mommy Guilt. I've got them by the truckload. Why should I go out of my way to manufacture more? And isn't it kind of mean to write about The Bitter Half and leave him open to public humiliation like that? Isn't being married to me enough of a cross to bear?

6) I was in the shower this morning and my cat flung open the bathroom door somehow and thrust his fuzzy little face in there and started just meowing like a freaking maniac cat. I asked him if he was planning to be irritating all day long. His eyes told me he was.

And so I sit here writing about my hopes and fears and eccentricities and you sit there wrapping a noose around your neck, just daring me to write one more painfully boring word so you can fling yourself out the window just to spite me. Oh great, now it's more Blogger Guilt as well.

And just who do you think you are anyway to expect me to be funny? I don't need that kind of pressure. Do you have any idea how hard it is to be funny? To open yourself up to that kind of rejection? It's easy for me to talk honestly about things of which other people would never dare to speak. But it's hard to cast a joke out into the river and wait for a fish to leap out of the water and jump on my joke hook. In this scenario, you would be the fish. And I would be vulnerable.

So there you have it. And don't you dare succomb to pathos and say nice things in your comment like, "But you are funny.", or worse yet, "I like you just the way you are.".

Have faith and speaketh!

For me, blogging just isn't as fun if I think that people will actually be reading what I am writing. Luckily for me, that isn't a huge problem.

What is it about thoughts? Some are best shared, but others lose their punch when aired out in public. Knowing this, might I be able to take advantage rather than suffer because of it? Hmmm.

Example #1: I've initiated a new green tea and pistachio routine during the evenings. After the kids have gone to bed, I sip green tea and have a handful of pistachios while unwinding with the bitter half. Since I've been doing this, I've started to feel much more energetic, and people have been asking me if I'm losing weight.

There, I've gone and done it. I've talked about it. Given events of the past, odds are I'm setting myself up for an orgy of exhaustion and rapid weight gain just by speaking its name. Yet I did it anyway. I couldn't help myself. It's in my nature to want to share.

Example #2: I used to have a fair amount of ridiculous fears about joining Facebook. I blogged about them, (Lord help me I went down the Face Hole), and joined up. I felt an initial wave of lightness and freedom after hitting the blue "Publish" button in my Wordpress dashboard. I continue to feel better and more empowered as I cross paths with increasingly more old friends and acquaintances only to find that they are all very nice people. Each and every last one of them. And not one of them called me fat. To my face.

Another issue of concern to me is the cradling and releasing of my babies. In this case, I'm referring to my thoughts, hopes and dreams. My ideas and my creative process. When they call my head their home is the only time I can say they belong to me. Once unleashed, they belong to the world. Sometimes I miss the intimacy of the relationship between me and my formerly private ideas, prejudices, adorations and hopes. I miss the comfort of my delusions, fears, assumptions and misconceptions. I miss the storms inside me that are my private dreams and longings.

That said, when I share my babies I feel a sense of community. A part of something bigger than myself. I've opened myself up to judgment and speculation by kind and unkind eyes alike. Hence, to the possibility of expansion and change. I do believe that this is one of the keys to happiness and spiritual growth, and I do not regret sharing myself with you. But when I do, I also give away pieces of myself. I can't help but wonder if in doing so I am diminishing myself. If one day I will be an empty vessel, barren of all thoughts, ideas and passions, and not unlike aging partners, one day we will sit across the screen from one another with nothing to say. Or worse yet, we will talk about other people and their hopes and dreams.

On the flip side, I can't help but hope that this sharing is not stripping me away to nothing, but rather building my creative muscles. Perhaps by purging I am making room for more exciting ideas and creative dreams. Perhaps just sharing these things with you allows my babies to ignite and catch fire, to burn brightly and publicly until all the surrounding oxygen is eaten and they die away slowly, fully spent and well-lived.

Given the choice, and there is always a choice, I will take that leap of faith.

Worthington Wire proves worthy!

Worthington Wire Proves Worthy! - So I'm checking out Facebook this morning and excitedly letting the world know about my planned crochetstravaganza when I happen upon a link posted by Allison Worthington of Blissfully Domestic and Mrs. Fussypants fame. Apparently she has info about a Wii giveaway at her new (yes, another) website Worthington Wire. I go to check it out, and never got far enough to find out about the giveaway (search section?) because I became distracted by all the cool links there. For real! I found this link in the "Cool Finds" section in the bottom right: "New CPSIA Forum; Buy Handmade Badge 2009/01/20", which led me to the Buy Handmade blog where I picked up the new "Buy Handmade - Repeal the CPSIA Badge" (look to the right and scroll down a bit to get your own) and it kind of snowballed from there.

I had planned to write a "real" blog posting today, full of tears and recriminations and laughter and lots of huggles, but instead I'm writing this. And it's Allison Worthington's fault! So don't blame me for my laziness, blame Alli for the coolness of her new website! Or thank her!

You can catch up with Alli and all of her projects on Twitter @WorthyWire, @Fussypants. She's a hoot, and you may be interested to know, responsive and reciprocal. Natch.

I'm having a bitchuva time coming up with a post this morning

I don't know exactly how old I was when my love affair with Q-Tips began. But I can tell you it was love at first swab. And every day since that day I've been swabbing my way to a bright new day.

Hmmm... No. That's not going to work.

What do cats get out of licking the shower spigot? They must get something out of it, as they immerse themselves into the activity with such unabashed glee.

Glee?

I used to love making homemade ice cream when I was a girl. I can almost hear the gravely sound the rock salt made as I crunk the handle in frothy anticipation.

Crunk? Oh, just shoot me and get it over with.

Hmmm...

I was singing to Joe last night, "My son will get up - TOmorrow. Bet your bottom dollar that TOmorrow, there'll be my son", and just feeling so much agape from my heart.

Gawd. NO!

If you cry for free and out of a sense of civic duty, is the product considered to be voluntears?

If The President does something awful will it be considered an obamanation?

Would I get sued if I blogged on Saturday night and called it The Saturday Evening Post?

Walking away from the keyboard...

Hyenas and Secret Cheerleaders

Here are some fairly "new to me" concepts that I'm going to blow by you. I've only recently had light bulb moments with regards to some time and attention-related issues.

If people give you a "can't put your finger on it" creepy-crawly feeling, trust your instincts.

I've finally learned to pull the plug on relationships with people who make me feel odd sensations. Hyenas. Jellyfishers. Possible predators. Stalkers. Haters. People who want to use me. Weird people who imagine a closeness and intimacy that does not exist and try to tell me what to do. Or people who think their own situations would be better if I were not around. And I don't feel guilty about it. I owe no explanations. No guilt. I've got other projects to pursue, other people to give my attention to. I will no longer waste my time and my energy on people who give me the feeling that they are either misrepresenting themselves or have hidden agendas. I'm not going to get paranoid. I'm not going to make dramatic scenes. I'm going to quietly slip out the back door.

People who have good intentions do not give you creepy crawly feelings. It's just that simple.



I will give my time and attention to those who are responsive to me.

I'm from the old school of people pleasers. My numero uno rule was to slosh my attentions all over people who did not deserve them. It was partly about being accepted. It was partly about "saving" people. And the more I needed to be saved, the more I ignored my own needs and tried to save others. I think the real intent was to save myself by proxy without having to admit that I had a problem, and to avoid spending any time thinking about myself. If I didn't see myself, I could pretend that I didn't exist. And if I didn't exist, it was easy to drink too much, stay up too late, put myself in dangerous situations, abuse my body, compromise my principles and be generally unkind to myself.

I didn't know it, but I was angry about some things, and took that anger out on myself instead of an appropriate target, or better yet - letting it evaporate into the light. I ignored those who were consistent in liking me, in being responsive to me, and in just "being there". I already had them, so there was no work to be done there. And who wants to be a part of any club that will have me for a member, anyway? Why do they like me? There must be something fundamentally wrong with their character. Better to be around people who cared nothing about me and allowed me to harm myself. As a numbed-out zombie, at least in harming myself I could feel something, anything, as proof that I was in fact still alive.

STUPID! No more. I'm going to give my time and attention to those who are responsive and reciprocal. They don't have to be a major part of my life, but I will no longer chase the attentions of people who ignore me or who are not good for me. If you've been friendly and supportive and kind to me and I've ignored you, I am so incredibly sorry. It was no reflection on you. It was a reflection on me. To those who responded to me, like The Bitter Half, when you showed me myself I became someone else—myself. Thank you for seeing me, and for illuminating my reflection in your mirror.

I will thank my lucky stars for my secret cheerleaders.

I'm beginning to realize that we all have secret cheerleaders. They root for us and pray for us behind the scenes. Either intentionally or incidentally, they fly under our radar. We might be alerted to the presence of our secret cheerleaders during a conflict or personal challenge. It is during these times that we fully expect our best and closest friends to step up to the plate and support us, or to gently get in our faces and tell us the honest truth. We may be surprised when instead, people on the periphery of our lives, about whom we never thought much or expected to be thought of by, are the ones who poke in their heads, uplift us and point us in the direction of the sun.

If only there were a way to identify them when the chips are still up.

Thank you secret cheerleaders. I'm going to be somebody's secret cheerleader too.

Tagged! More stuff about me to make your eyes glaze over

I sit here in front of my computer this morning with one thought in my brain. Why oh WHY do they schedule those mind-suckingly boring public meetings after Barney? As soon as Barney ends, we're not given even a second of time to hop on over to the remote before a plethora of old folks in grey outfits and monotone voices start speaking about the California Field Act, or some other such important, but un-child-friendly material. The shock usually causes my son to start screaming, "Barney! Barney!" whilst running in panicked little circles.

But I digress...

My girl Lea. Lea's not a girl anymore. She's a woman! Oh no, now I'm starting to sound like one of those Godawful songs from the sixties: "Girl. You'll be a wooman sooon", or "Young girl, get out of my mind! My love for you is way out of line! Better ruuun girl! You're much too young, girl!". Shudder.

Anyway, she tagged me over at Lea's Blogging Life with Ten Things You Never Really Wanted to Know About Me. It was within this tag that I learned a stunning new factoid about Lea. She was a cheerleader. That alone would be shocking enough and reason for pause. But we're not talking high school here. We're talking college. We're talking Pac 10. I saw a picture of her in all her perky glory— ripped, gorgeous and glowing with health and thought, hmm... well, there you go. Maybe cheerleaders are real people too. Dang it, I'm going to have to cross another group off of my list of "People I Like to Judge". Cheerleaders were sitting between Charo and Chevy Lowrider Drivers. Now that cheerleaders are off the list, Charo has assumed her rightful position on top of Chevy Lowrider Drivers. And it's all because Lea's good people.

I've been tagged a few times and I don't think there are any more things to reveal that you didn't want to know about me. That I want you to know. But I'll go for it. For Lea. But only five things. Because I can't think of any more.

1) When we used to go clubbing in San Francisco I'd often use the men's bathroom because the lines to the women's were way too long and I have a bladder the size of a pea.

2) I worked at Wendy's when I was in high school. Somewhere there's a photo of me wearing a hamburger hat.

3) I love New Age music, especially the kind that features piano music, like David Lanz and Randall Leonard. I like virtually all genres of music, but New Age is the only one that consistently provides me with an odd feeling of Déjà Vu.

4) I once ate a piece of Mealtime dog food on a dare and was called "Mealtime" for the rest of the year by the friend who presented me with the dare.

5) I accosted Danny DeVito with a drunken hug at Coachella 2005. It seemed like a good idea at the time.



Passing along the tag here, X Amount of Things You Never Wanted to Know About Me:

1) Helene at I’m Living Proof that God has a Sense of Humor

2) Paula at Organizing Tips and Thoughts for Moms

3) Connie at BrainFoggles

4) Tess at Six Feet Under Blog

5) Barb at Black Belt Scrapping

Blogger Guilt

Am I the only person who sometimes feels guilty for taking the time to blog?

I sit here clickety clacking away on my keyboard instead of:

1) Tickling my babies
2) Doing the laundry
3) Working out
4) Knitting, crocheting, sewing, etc.
5) Getting it on
6) Cleaning out my fridge
7) Going to the park
8) Doing my nails
9) Reading a book
10) Riding a burro across the country

Hmmm...

11) Staring at myself and berating myself in front of a mirror
12) Eating junk food
13) Feeling lonely and confined
14) Sticking tape on my cat's nose
15) Casting my words into the sea of soon-to-be-lost message board and/or chat posts

Indeed.

Would I be doing all of those things if I wasn't sitting here blogging right now?

I'm not making a dime off of this blog. And I really need to be spending my free (Ha! I make the time to blog!) time finding a way to earn bread*. I've been approaching blogging and online social networking like a job. I get up in the morning and set my kids up, then check and respond to email, make the blogging group rounds, make the blogging rounds, check Facebook and Twitter. Post here. Write there. I really enjoy it.

But is it a waste of my time?

Why are we drawn to things if they aren't supposed to serve some purpose in our lives? Then again, I was drawn to drinking and clubbing in my twenties and that didn't serve a purpose other than to age me prematurely. It was fun at the time, though.

Is blogging just another addiction? Or does it serve a higher purpose?

*To those born after 1969, bread=money

Nugget from Plain Jane Mom

Nugget from Plain Jane Mom - You have got to see Erika's short burst of creative inspiration entitled "Shhh it's just a hint..." aka "37 seconds of unadulterated awesome."

Saturday Link Love

I just love my blogging buddies. They are truly special. I am amazed by their vitality, creativity, industriousness, and their ability to not let that get in the way of actually communicating—with me! Ahh, life is good. I'm having a moment.

Here are some notes to share.

1) Holly Jahangiri of Do I Have to Spell it Out and Trockle, one of my favorite blogging buddies, gave me The Prémio Dardos award!

The Prémio Dardos

"The Prémio Dardos is given for recognition of cultural, ethical, literary, and personal values transmitted in the form of creative and original writing. These stamps were created with the intention of promoting fraternization between bloggers, a way of showing affection and gratitude for work that adds value to the Web."

Well THANK YOU, Miz Holly. That was very nice of you.

The rules are:

a) Accept the award by posting it on your blog along with the name of the person that has granted the award and a link to his/her blog.

b) Pass the award to another 15 blogs that are worthy of this acknowledgement, remembering to contact each of them to let them know they have been selected for this award.

Since I am a dillweed, I'm not going to follow rule b. And because I am a dillweed, I'm not going to explain why.

2) Jannie Funster, another one of my favorite blogging buddies, tagged me with a " 7 facts about me" meme oh, about forescore and seven years ago. Jannie Funster. Funning aro-ound. Making copies. Coping funny things. Making coffee for Jan-nie. By the toas-ster.

I'm sure the poor thing has been sitting at her computer since the initial tag, eyes locked on How to be a Woman (my old blog), hitting F5 F5 F5 F5 F5 in the manner of Nancy Spungen had she lived long enough to operate a computer, assuming that she would know that F5 is refresh. Just craving those facts about me like Rosie O'Donnell craves something to bitch about. And I, in that intermittently insensitive way that I have, just sat here all that time cackling and stroking my dachshund Greta and licking a freakishly big lollipop.

Anyway, 7 pointless facts about me are:

1. I used to braid my hair and apply perming solution back in the late 80's to give my hair that crimped look. I fried it. And I looked like a fool.
2. I prefer extra crispy.
3. I prefer boxers or boxer briefs.
4. My friend Michelle and I used to go out dancing at gay clubs so we could dance and hang out without getting hit on.
5. I love Fiestaware.
6. As a girl I became obsessed with the movie Grease. I'd put on my Mom's old poodle skirts, create dances, and make my 5th grade teacher allow me to perform them in front of the class.
7. I wish they'd start filming an updated version of Magnum, PI starring Tom Selleck. I miss Higgins, T.C., Rick, Ice Pick and, of course The Lads.

3) I've said it before, and I will say it again. Andy Bailey of CommentLuv Wordpress plugin fame is the coolest geek bloke in the universe! I was having problems getting his WP-Twitip-ID plugun to work here at Retro Heather, and he was kind enough to take pity on a sistah and help me get it working. Andy is one of those rare nice and trustworthy people in a sea of predator sharks. He's the only programmer I've encountered who doesn't:

a) Completely ignore me when I ask for help, as 99.99% of them do.

b) Make fun of my inquiry and imply that I'm a hopeless fool the way Billy Zabka would were he the very thing he despises most—a geek.

Check out the WP-Twitip-ID plugin if you get the chance. Here is Andy's description of it: "Adds another field to the comment form to allow the user to include their twitter id. Inspired by @problogger post http://tinyurl.com/6gns3f and kicked up the bum by @styletime."

Also, help him out and periodically check out Andy Bailey's eBay UK auctions page where he sells electronics. I don't think he's got anything listed at the moment, but I'm sure he will soon.

4) I had the pleasure of "meeting' and had a wonderful exchange the other day with Lea Curtes-Swenson. She's working on a new professional blog, Lea Writes. Here's a link to Lea Curtes-Swenson's TwitterMoms profile. Befriend her and ask her about copywriting and getting back on the career track after taking time out for Mommyhood. She's got a good article over at Working Mom Lifeline on the latter called The On-Ramp.

5) Also, I'd like to send a shout-out to my esteemed and beloved cousin Gina and her incredibly awesome family husband Butch and children Chad, J.T., Drew and Rachel. At this point in time she doesn't have a blog in the works, but I'm working on her. We sort of drifted apart after she married at 19 and moved from California to a different state, (started wearing cowboy boots too), but we recently re-connected and are getting to know one another again.

She's one of the most energetic, intelligent, beautiful and fascinating women you'll ever meet. When I was a girl she was my idol. I told her as much once and she told me I was silly (in so many words). Among other things, I got a kick out of the way she blew off Rob Lowe back in his heyday. She's a genius with a pen and knows a heckuva lot about raising a family. She's also the Godmother of both of my children. I'll keep working on her and someday you'll be able to read her blog and network with her and get to experience her Ginaness for yourself!

Happy Saturday y'all!

Accept things the way they are now

Lately quite a few people have been making comments to me about my avatar. Speculating about whether or not I've Photoshopped my image—why I look so good in it, so young. (Mostly joking of course, tongue in cheek, or being complementary, God bless them.)



This, of course, is laughable to me because I don't think I look that fabulous in it given that I'm sporting a fair amount of chin waggle among other things. But I did cut off half of my chubby arm, I'll give you that. Oops, in this photo I cut off my entire arm. And my entire son, too. But I only did it after reading an article about how you NEED a face shot avatar that "POPS!" like whiz, snap, crackle baby! I did not airbrush out my wrinkles. If I'd done that, I most likely would have taken the time to airbrush out my grey hair. Most likely. But maybe I would have just left it in there to throw you off the trail of my Photoshopping efforts, and to make you think I really am wrinkle-free and 18 years old.

The truth is this (and I know you're glued to your chair here because your life revolves around me.me.me. and my pointless personal revelations):

It's simply the only good photo of me taken in the last three years. The only photo of me that doesn't make me want to vomit. The only photo where I even remotely look the way I did three years ago before I got pregnant and got thyroid disease and gained 75 pounds, (30 or so which have been lost, but I've got a long way to go, sistah! I had just joined Weight Watchers before I got pregnant, so help me!). The only photo of me that I can look at without, quite literally, choking back a tear. All my wrinkles aren't standing out like white flags to the ravages of time and sun exposure, (and drinking and smoking and eating bad things and intense stress and lack of sleep), due to the lighting being really good in that one tiny window of time at the apple farm. And the flash hitting my face at what I presume is just the right angle. And because I am relaxed and happy and I have my boy in my arms and my husband is standing in front of me.

It's not you. It's me. My vanity. Or what's left of it.

I heard on Oprah today, (don't laugh—I'm taping it because it's Best Life Week and she's supposed to talk about her similar thyroid problems), that one of the keys to spiritual growth is to accept things as they really are. Not how they were. Not how we wish they were. As they are. I guess it's all part of living in the here and now. We need to be present in the moment and, I will add, 100% honest with ourselves if we are to achieve spiritual growth.

So I done went and changed my avatar here and on Twitter and Facebook to one more representative of the way I look every day. One without makeup. I took this on Christmas morning just after opening the locket given to me by The Bitter Half containing photos of my babies.



My face is poofy and swollen by the years and the extra pounds. My eyebrows should be treated with a blowtorch. My lips are peeling. My nose looks really weird - like it's growing a baby nose on each side. Thank God the flash blew out the wrinkles. But I am happy. And that, dear friends and readers, is a true respresentation of me.

We may or may not be embracing our personal energy

I'm new to social networking and social media. New to blogging. All of it. From an outsider's perspective, it's one giant fascinating ball of wax. Like sitting at the foot of a table watching a cross-section of society play Monopoly and fight over who gets the thimble while others scramble for a seat. Here's what I've observed over the last couple of days, and my pointless ruminations and blather about it all, contained in the form of a series of run-on sentences and inappropriately placed commas, sure to set Holly Jahangiri's frontal vein a'bulging.

• Sometimes people create lists that contain mentions of other people. Those mentioned on the lists are happy, but those not mentioned are hurt and often feel betrayed. Why then do people devise such lists? And why do people continue to care about them? Why are people who create such lists often catapaulted to the top of social networking strata if they aren't already there? For the same reason Rob and Amber were so successful on Survivor. They were leaders, and others thought them untouchable. Also, because in the world of social networking people rely on other people to spread the word about them, and to make introductions. To get a nod of approval from a big cheese in the world of social networking can send flocks of followers one's way. Why is this a good thing? Exposure. To promote your brand. And for some, to quote the big N.D.:
  "But I got an emptiness deep inside
  And I've tried
  But it won't let me go
  And I'm not a man who likes to swear
  But I never cared
  For the sound of being alone'"
  


• There is a lot of resistance out there to positivity. There are a lot of life coaches on Twitter and Facebook. A lot of people telling other people how to use Twitter and Facebook. How to present themselves. How to express themselves. How to "be". There are people making a living this way. I don't mind them myself. For the most part, they are a harmless bunch. And is it really such a bad thing to be around people who encourage us to stop wallowing in our own muck and self-pity, embrace our energy and our personal power and just GO FOR IT? I suppose it is if you're not the go for it type. Some would do well to drop their wall of jokes and listen to what they have to say. Being happy is okay. Happiness and positivity are not tantamount to idiocracy. But all people weren't meant to be energetic and perky. Just because one is low key and expresses him or herself with a quiet and sardonic wit or a dark seriousness does not mean they are not embracing their energy. Some dance to the beat of a different drummer. Any attempt to alter them is, in my opinion, a crime against nature.


• There are posers among us. Or poseurs. Or possers. Depends on the observer calling out the poser. What is a poser you ask? I have no idea. If you know, please tell me. I am so out of the loop. But posers or poseurs or poosers are apparently supposed to be blackballed on one's Twitter, or Friend Feed, and we're not supposed to Digg posers. Don't even think about Friending them on Facebook. Why? Apparently posing is anti-social. Unless it's in a cute hat.


• We may or we may not be dillweeds. If we tell other people what to do, it's likely that we are dillweeds. I'm starting to suspect that being a dillweed is not a good thing. I'm starting to suspect that I may even be a dillweed. Some people don't get the tongue-in-cheekness of my "How to be a Woman" blog title, and think that I am positioning myself as an authority. To anyone who actually reads my blog, this is laughable and couldn't be farther from the truth. The whole point of this blog is that I haven't a clue how to be a real woman. I am an apprentice. I'm on the path, not the path. I admit that I am a big jerk who is flailing around, trying to learn how to be happy, how to be strong and steady and do right by the family I love. I'm going to get there somday. And I'm perfectly alright with being a dillweed. I like pickles better than cukes anyway.


• Twitter is addicting. There are so many fascinating people out there. I really, truly mean that. They're out there, and they are actually willing to communicate with you. There are talented artists, writers, singers, comedians, business moguls, you name it, right there on your Twitter screen. Right there at your fingertips. Where else are you going to be presented with the opportunity to communicate with such incredible people first-hand? At this point, I would argue nowhere. Not like this. Not this instantly gratifying. And if you're nice to them, they have to be nice to you. Heh. Because if the rest of their followers should witness them being a jerk to you without provocation, then they're likely to hear about it. You've got them over a barrel. Ain't it cool? Note to self: Do not become obsessed with losing followers. Those who matter don't mind, and those who mind don't matter. (Thanks, Annette.) Just be yourself, have a blast, and let the chips fall where they may. Note to self: Spend less time on Twitter and more time with your kids and your projects. Note to self: A little Tweeting is perfectly okay.

Signing off,
Dillweed in California

Women know that stuff is just stuff

The Bitter Half just brought me the latest (12/22/08) issue of Newsweek and pointed out Anna Quindlen's latest "The Last Word" editorial called "Stuff is Not Salvation". He knows that I feel the same way and was thinking that I might want to blog about it. Am I a lucky woman or what? Thanks, Mr. Snugglepants.

"The drumbeat that accompanied Black Friday this year was that the numbers had to redeem us, that if enough money was spent by shoppers it would indicate that things were not so bad after all. But what the economy required was at odds with a necessary epiphany. Because things are dire, many people have become hesitant to spend money on trifles. And in the process they began to realize that it's all trifles."

"... he covets. That's his nature. And how do we begin to covet, Clarice? Do we week out things to covet? ... We begin by coveting what we see every day ... don't your eyes seek out the things you want?"

There you have it. We are in the midst of a period of enlightenment. Due to economic necessity and the cyclical nature of things, more and more of us are starting to "get" the mentality of the generations of Americans that came before us. Credit is evil (think Lindsey Lohan). Idle hands do the devil's work (think Lindsey Lohan). Less is more (think Lindsey Lohan). Self-indulgence is wrong (think Lindsey Lohan). Waste not, want not (think - okay, you get it).

We're beginning to feel a little foolish and to wonder how and why we ever consumed so conspicuously. When I was making a lot of money and had few expenses, I used to go shopping all the time. Malls, discount stores, boutiques. When I wasn't out shopping, I was in shopping on eBay and Amazon. I saved nothing. And you know what? I can't think of one thing I purchased during that period that I still have today, that I still use or value. Not one thing. I've moved a few times, so what wasn't loved or useful went to charity or friends. What a sobering thought. Nothing that I purchased was loved or useful. It was a massive, pathetic, orgy of waste. None of my purchases filled the deepening hole inside me for longer than an instant. One might even speculate that they added fuel to my fire. I picture myself back then and see flashes of credit cards, last minute eBay sniping, back rooms piling with stuff. Sitting in the dark buying more and more, lonely and wasted like a flaming oil field off in the distance.

I wasn't trying to be better than anyone else by amassing so many useless things. I was shooting for par. I thought if I wore the right suit, had the right jewelry, the right shoes with no scuffs, the right fake highlighted hair, the right fake nails, and a good enough fake tan to hide the fullness in my thighs that I could sit down with the rest of you and not feel ashamed and unworthy. It was a losing battle when fought with things. A battle that was better fought by loving so deeply that everything around me melted and fell away until all that existed was love. Children can do that for a person.

How can we further quell our desire to amass? To keep up with the Joneses? The problem is complex, and I don't think there is one answer. I'm one of the worst offenders myself and need some re-schoolin'. But we can start by working together and walking the talk. Why is it so important to work together? To quote Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs (yeah yeah I know, just hear me out lol):

"... he covets. That's his nature. And how do we begin to covet, Clarice? Do we week out things to covet? ... We begin by coveting what we see every day ... don't your eyes seek out the things you want?"

We watch television. HGTV to be specific. And we see twenty year olds buying massive, gorgeous first homes. We see all manner of people remodeling and "upgrading" their homes, ridding themselves of counter tops that aren't cookie-cutter granite, throwing out anything that does not fit the current and very specific ideal. We see real estate appraisers curling their lips with disgust and pointing and gasping and telling us that our homes, which look so much like those in the "before" scenes, are all wrong and even pitiable, that they simply must be changed and be changed NOW. We feel shame.

We watch The Food Network and see Giada, a professional chef who is a size negative zero, whose curiously large head is always perfectly coiffed, her upgraded nose and cleavage gleaming with perfection. Out of the corners of our eyes we catch our husbands innocently gazing at the television and we feel inferior. Everything about us is wrong. Don't our husbands deserve better? Time for an expensive gym membership. Better run out and buy new cooking gadgets, the most expensive virgin olive oils and serving platters, and lots of hair spray. Aren't the men we love worth it?

We are flooded with images of gadgets and wazoozles. Images that bend us and twist us and fill us with a hunger for things. Because only these things, these very specific new things, will allow us to express ourselves and present ourselves in the desired manner, to create the lifestyle and feel of home that we desire. Only these things will make our children feel loved, our husbands valued and appreciated, only what that guy has will do for them. They see it, they want it, they must have it or I will have failed them. They are so wonderful they deserve only the best.

Time to rip the needle off the record, ladies. As long as we keep buying what they're selling they're going to keep dishing it out. Time to stop letting people with a vested interest in making us feel shame and less than we really are dictate our realities. I don't pretend to know the right way to proceed. For each of us it will be different. But I think a good place to start is by giving ourselves some breathing room. Time to take an inventory of our lives. Get rid of people and things that are not necessary, sentimental or useful. Think ten times before making a purchase. And if we really do need something, let's see if we can repurpose an item we already own, or find it used at a thrift store, or buy it used on Craig's List from a family who could really use the money, or handmade from a stay at home Mom.

And one more request: Please stop buying your kid those $200 designer jeans. She doesn't need them to be loved and accepted. By buying them for her you just might be feeding into her suspicion that she does. And if your daughter is wearing them, then my daughter just might see them and want them because she will want Jordan or Brent to think she's pretty too. And it will never end.

Women seek the greatest gifts

There are some days when the words just won't come. I stare at the screen wishing I could imprint my emotions upon it. But since I can't do that, which is probably for the best, I'm going to post a quote sent to me a couple of weeks ago by somebody special. (to the right)

"This Christmas, mend a quarrel. Seek out a forgotten friend. Dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust. Write a letter. Give a soft answer. Encourage youth. Manifest your loyalty in word and deed. Keep a promise. Forgo a grudge. Forgive an enemy. Apologize. Try to understand. Examine your demands on others. Think first of someone else. Be kind. Be gentle. Laugh a little more. Express your gratitude. Welcome a stranger. Gladden the heart of a child. Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth. Speak your love and then speak it again."

~~~Howard W. Hunter

To my family—my nutty, wonderful, wacky family—I love you all so much. I am grateful to God for placing you near me down here on Earth. I shudder to think how I would have survived had I been set down in a wicked or unkind pasture. I know that many of you were and that you've managed to survive so that your gifts and your sweet souls may bring comfort, joy and inspiration to the lives and hearts of others. Please don't make the mistake of thinking that the magic and the hope and the promise of the best of life has passed you by.

To a dear old friend, thank you for your honesty and for taking that baby step.

Look and see how many beautiful flowers emerged from that bed of manure.

Women love Chrissy! (And Stinkerbell Accessories)

Stinkerbell Accessories designer Chrissy Gaynor and her beautiful family

I met my friend Chrissy at our iVillage expecting club back in 2006. She was carrying her youngest, Grace, and I had little Joe Joe swimming around in my belly. Chrissy is one of those people who is just cool. She's fun, drama-free, and friendly to everyone. When the fur was flying over there and hormones were raging because we were all ten months pregnant and ran out of pop tarts on the same day, Chrissy would come in with a "What the H*ll is going on here?" type of post and bring everybody back down to Earth. She's the real deal.

Chrissy has been a stay at home Mom extraordinaire for as long as I've known her. So when she told me she'd found something that she enjoyed and was good at, (besides oh I don't know, keeping her husband Pat happy, having and raising beautiful children, keeping a home, watching a friend's child and looking sickeningly good in a bikini), I was well and truly happy for her. She wanted to send me some headbands and only wanted me to pass out a card or two when people asked about them. I told her not to, because I didn't want her to suffer the expense, but she insisted. And I'm so glad she did!



Lily, who is almost six months old, just loved our photo session. She didn't get irritated the way she usually does when, God forbid, I try to put a cute hat or headband on her. In the pic up above, she is wearing the Carina.



Here she is sporting a new model similar to the Audrey found on Chrissy's pink page.



"Aren't I beeyootiful?" she seems to say as she mugs for the camera.



The headband is crocheted out of soft, satiny fabric. It stretches and fits like a charm, even on my baby daughter's head, but isn't too tight. Some headbands leave a red mark on her head, and when they do that they get tossed into the trash! Not Stinkerbell Accessories, though. They look great on older girls as well, as you can see in the photos of the flower headbands modeled by Chrissy's lovely daughter Grace and beautiful stepdaughter Jessica, both of whom are so special to Chrissy. I know because I've heard her brag about them for years. She has a very handsome young son named Brett as well, who I know appreciates not being asked to model a headband for posterity's sake.

From the About Us section of Stinkerbell Accessories:

Designer Chrissy Gaynor uses the daily inspirations she receives through the joy of raising her children, and interpreting their love of nature into hair accessories. She feels that the right accessory can not only change the entire look of an outfit, but can also transform the way one feels about herself. Whether these items are used casually, for fun, or for formal use, we hope that our accessories make each little girl feel as special as she truly is.

Go, Chrissy!

Stinkerbell Accessories
Chrissy Gaynor
(847) 383-5430
www.stinkerbellaccessories.com
stinkerbellaccessories@yahoo.com

Women sometimes have baby birthday meltdowns

It's Joe Joe's birthday. See? I can barely type that. I had a meltdown yesterday. Yes, it's true. Calm, cool, collected moi melted down like an ice cream cat cake on a hot tin roof. (Hey, I didn't sleep last night so it's the best I could come up with.) Other factors played into it of course, but when I started warbling about my son and his birfday mid-meltdown I knew I was in the throes of baby birthday angst.

It happened last year, too. Out of the blue I was sobbing and snapping at my family for not getting their butts out of their rooms to wish Joe a proper birthday. For not getting excited about watching Joe open his present. For not caring. For not feeling the magnitude of the magnocity of this day. Now did they care? Probably. Did that stop me from snapping like a twig? Nope. I didn't see it coming and was not prepared for it. My baby. ONE YEAR OLD. Joe Joe's birth was at that point the most significant event of my life. My love for my little Joseph Hunter brought me to my knees and made me feel fearful and powerless. I held my heart in my arms and looked down at him and told him that my life no longer belonged to me, that it belonged to him. I know now that that was a silly thing to say, but it's the way I felt at the time. I love him so much it rips me up inside.

Now he is TWO YEARS OLD. My baby boy. My beautiful, bright, curious and silly boy. My boy who will put Lily's binky back in her mouth after she drops it, then rock her in her bouncy chair. The boy who will hug for no reason, but not on command. The boy who sometimes refuses to look at you when you're talking to him but who takes in everything you say, as well as what you don't say. He is so sensitive, I just want to hold him and love him and keep the world at bay with curses and a torch. I know what's out there.

I'm going to go now and leave you with a poem that expresses how I feel. I'm crying again and all poofy and wet and I want to get myself together so I can be cheerful when Joe wakes up.

The Vow
By Carol Lynn Pearson

How could I hide you
From hate?
I would,
Though my arms break
With the trying.

Life leans in
At the window there,
With its bag
Of dark treasures
Trying for your eyes—
So utterly open,
so unaware.

You will see
Men smile over blood,
And you will know
There is hate.
You may see bombs
And butcheries,
And you will know
There is horror.

Against all this
What can I do?
Only vow
That before you
Leave my arms,
You will know
Past ever doubting
That there is
Love, too.

I love you Joseph Hunter.

Women just shake their heads

I'm not professing to be a brain child, nor am I any good at politickin'. But come on folks. What is up lately?

1. We've got the Governor of Illinois acting like he's suffering from Mad Cow disease. To his credit, at least he actually overtly looks and acts like a sociopath so we can pluck him out of our system, strap him to a raft, and point him in the direction of a waterfall. Unfortunately, since our political system is set up to reward shady back-door dealings, (as opposed to back-door dealings that are on the up and up), and since public policy is bought and sold, he's just a bleeding ulcer on a spetic system. What kind of nut wants to hold public office anyway? Why would anybody want such a thing for themselves and their family? What kind of person has the kind of spotless background it takes to get elected? The kind of person who isn't human. If you haven't made a lot of mistakes and learned from them, how can you be a wise leader? Our system is broken. Why do we allow lobbyists? Why is that even legal? What, it's okay for people to buy legislation? I don't remember voting on that one. Oh, and do you mean to tell us that nobody was aware of this nutcase and his dirty dealings before the 2008 Presidential Election? I don't appreciate having this type of information hidden from me in order to help shuffle a particular candidate into public office. That stinks worse than government cheese. We should have been informed so that we could make a better informed decision. Boo! Hiss!


2. What is up with ball players? First Plaxico's shooting himself in the thigh in a night club and now TO's at it again. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth the way these ball players are groomed from childhood to throw and catch and run, the way they have sweet smoke blown up their bottoms by everyone they encounter. The way they're bought and paid for and sold and re-sold like human chattel. The way we put up with all manner of crap from them because if you can catch a ball and run with it you can get away with rape and murder. I've had enough of bling bling and gun-toting and self-aggrandizing tough talk. I'd like to see a little more passion for the game, fair play, respect for players, coaches and fans. What about the little kids who look up to these guys and emulate their every move? We know this, but yet we turn the other way. Why? Is it so crazy to make these athletes sign morality clauses and make them stick to them? You mess up, then buh-bye!


3. Why is my shower never the correct temperature? It's always either too hot or too cold. Here's my showoral procedure. I turn on the hot knob and allow the water to go from cold to hot. Then I turn on the cold knob and try to net myself a stream of warmth. It's always still too hot, so I do the right thing to save water. Instead of turning up the cold knob, I turn down the hot. Does this work? No. It never works. Why not? I have no clue. It's always too hot or too cold. I can never ever find the sweet spot. Who cares, you say? I like hot showers you say. I turn them on my lower back and groan with pleasure. I'm with you on that. The rub is that I'm still nursing Lily and if water that hot gets within six inches of one of my boobs then letdown starts and I dribble milk all over myself and my towels when trying unsuccessfully to dry myself into a clean and unsticky state.

There's more, but I don't want to bitch too much all at once. God lets me do it in bits and pieces. If I go too far he starts to think of me as unappreciative of the blessings set before me, and a fool for focusing on things that don't really matter. Time to hug the babies, visit my Mom, and then come home and wait for my husband to arrive home safely. Ain't it cool? Have a good weekend!

P.S. Please pray for my friend Nicole. She and Eric will be married soon, and then he is off to Afghanistan for a year or so. Also, please pray for Nicole's best friend and his family. Her best friend was recently paralyzed in an accident right before his wedding. Light a candle for his recovery and remember that every day your family is around to irritate you is another blessing-filled day. Not that my family irritates me. More likely, it's the other way around. But I digress. Off to the races! Be well!