Fruitkey

Ack... The weekend is here. Man. Ick. Too much to do. Too much to say. And my brain is fuzzy from (more than) a half bottle of vino last night. Damn you eating out and your blasted wine list!

That said, I am down for the count today.

Instead of boring you with anecdotes of my kid's childhood or stories of my anxiety-ridden existence, enjoy a ditty from my favorite band.

Tune in tomorrow, for more tales of blissful childrearing and drain-circling woe. (Oh! Oh! This one too!)

Hook, Line and...

I'll never be able to comprehend how or why men put up with our feminine moods. So up and down and this and that and always in with the drama and the talking and the talking and the talking... You know, I always see those wives in movies who seem so calm and together and supportive? The one's whose husbands still adore them after 40 years of marriage? Do those women really exists?

Those of you who read this blog know that the hub and I do not watch TV. We have only one TV in the house, a little 19 inch we use in the bedroom with no cable so we barely pick up the local stations. We watch movies on DVD about once or twice a week, every now and again I'll get sucked into watched a series -- ahem, HBO -- on DVD (Six Feet Under, Curb Your Enthusiasm, Entourage), and I try and limit the bub's TV consumption to about a half hour every other day (Old School Sesame Street, Mr. Roger's, old Disney movies, Bear in the Big Blue House, Meerkat Manor, Planet Earth and the occasional Backyardigans video checked out from the library).

So, when my husband mentioned getting a flat screen, 32" HD TV for the bedroom, I was hesitant at first. I mean, what do we need a new TV for... especially one that big... if we pick up HD stations, will that just mean we'll be tempted to watch TV more?

Both of us grew up on TV. Then as adults, back in NYC, the hub used to keep his TV on all the time as background filler. I didn't watch a ton, but I'll admit I was addicted to a few shows (r.e. John Stewart...Friends... lame, I know). When we moved here, I wanted to make an effort to cut TV out of our home life, and having done so, our lives have changed for the better. We have far move free time (alot of which gets sucked up by the Internet... damn you super highway!), and I can get to bed a lot earlier without having to stay up to tune in next week.

Despite this, I've often lamented our little TV in town. We have a larger TV at the farm, but our movie viewing in town has been limited... can't watch subtitles because the type is too small to read... can't watch big blockbusters because they just don't look right. Anyway, seeing as my husband used to be a huge technophile and life with me has reduced him to owning only a Cambridge Soundworks CD player and an iPod, I figured I would let him have a little electronic fun for a change.

The set arrived yesterday, and I have to say it is weird. It is like having a third person in the bedroom. Another living entity that demands attention. We watched Big Fish (which is still my favorite Tim Burton movie), and I cried (as always) at the end. Even more delightful than the movie, I was genuinely awed by the colors and sounds radiating from this devil box. Oh, I thought to myself, what will those wizards think of next?

Am I happy we have it? Yes. At this point, it doesn't seem like we'll watch more TV because of it, though I know it will up our movie watching substantially. I just hope that this over sized boob tube in the bedroom doesn't come to replace the already dwindling intimate time the hub and I still have left. Time is so fleeting, and with a toddler in the house, it is difficult to connect with each other in a silent room, much less having to compete with a 32" monster bleating into your night.

Now, back to my original point... Jessica Lange in Big Fish... she's kinda the ideal wife and mother, no? That part when she climbs in the tub with sick 'ole Albert Finney is so sexy and sweet, it makes me want to weep for all the people who've never known true love. TV or no TV, I'm crossing my fingers secretly for the hub and me and repeating the following a million times... "Please let that be us when we're 70, please let that be us when we're 70, please let that be..."

LP

So, the record player saga continue. After purchasing that albatross of a turntable from Target last week, I had to return it TWICE in as many days due to malfunctions. The first one I bought, it was obvious that it was a return (coffee stains on the instruction manual... ack!) as there were parts missing and scratches all over the damn thing. I immediately took it back, and got a new one that proceeded to work great for one night. I put a CD on loop in the bub's room, and by 8 a.m. the next morning, the thing wouldn't even turn on. How do you spell piece 'o shit? C-R-O-S-L-E-Y.

So back to square one. I spend a few days searching for portable record players of old on eBay, but most were so expensive (even in need of new tubes!) that I didn't want to take a chance. The record player I had as a child was a huge portable in a boring grey plastic tub, so obviously not worth looking for a replacement of that. My mom currently has a vintage KLH stereo that is pretty rad, but it takes up so much space, and we live in a house that is barely 1,200 square feet. And now having had a record player/CD combo spoiled me since there is minimal counter space in the boy's room. So I sucked it up and bought a new TEAC combo. I am just crossing my fingers that it doesn't suck and sounds OK.

While I await its arrival from J&R, I've been filling in some gaps in the record collection. Today I scored The Sound of Music and the Beach Boys Endless Summer at a local thrift shop. My friend who is way more seasoned in the area of buying old LPs laughed that my beginner status as a record collector was obvious. With 5,000 records to her name, if I ever got that crazy, we'd have to find a new house.

I wanna keep the collection to a minimum as essentially the albums are for the bub, and I want him to have real memories about them when he grows up, so keeping the collection down to a select handful will be essential. That said, I hope he likes David Bowie's version of Peter and the Wolf. (I couldn't help myself!)

Poppins

Why do I feel guilty going to the gym while my son is at school? I suppose there is a part of me that thinks if we are paying someone to watch our son, I should be doing something constructive with my time, like earning money or writing the great American novel. I don't know why I feel guilty spending that time taking care of myself. I mean, in Upper East Side Manhattan culture, part of the deal I think with rich husbands supporting their wives is the trade off. Wives don't have to work so they can spend time working on their upkeep.... otherwise they get traded in for a younger model. I suppose the difference with me and the hub is, we're not rich, and he is too sweet to ever criticise my appearance one way or the other, so I'll never know if he thinks my butt is too big or the bags under my eyes are beginning to show.

I see these women at the gym... running on treadmills while their little guys scream bloody murder in the on-site childcare. That guilt I feel for those women is part of the reason I haven't splurged on a family membership. I couldn't imagine not spending time with the bub just so I can sweat for an hour or two. I am one of those people that (sadly) martyrs herself for her child. Rather than send the bub to the gym childcare like a reasonable housewife, I get up at 5:30 a.m. to go swim and race back home before the bub wakes up so as to not miss one second of quality time. I even feel guilty doing the stroller-mommy thing because I'd feel bad making him stroll for an hour while I exercise.

But what this means is, I have no life whatsoever. I blog. I occasionally write an article or two for the paper. I write freelance every now-and-again for my old job. Every once in a blue moon, I write creatively, but that's it. There is no time to even organize my broom closet or wash my car.

And I feel guilty about every free minute I am not doing something for or with the bub. I picture those moms who can't afford to spend time with their kids. Who have to work two jobs to make ends meet. Who the fuck am I to complain about my cushy existence? Then, whenever I start to feel like I'm losing my mind, I picture those moms with ten kids and no money who suck it up and raise their offspring with a smile... Never complaining. Never beating the living shit out of their kids. Always having dinner on the table on time. I mean, these women probably don't really exist, but somewhere in my mind I have created them as virtual role models for the kind of caretaker I want to (or feel like I should) be.

Is this unrealistic? Sure... but screw it. I'd rather make myself insane now than have some guilt in later years that I didn't do everything I could. If you haven't figured it out by now, I feel guilty about virtually everything in life. I am up at 2 a.m. most mornings worrying about something. And in order to not lose my mind, I often feel like I have to solve a problem right then and there or I will flip off the deep end and circle right down the drain. That probably comes from growing up in a dysfunctional home. Never feeling like I had control of a situation, so that now whenever I begin to lose control, I become enraged and can't deal with it.

The other weekend, we had some friends out to the farm, and I was casually telling the wife of the couple about all my child-rearing anxieties... Am I too stern? Will yelling at the bub screw him up forever? Am I going to hell if I spank him every now and then? The woman finally looked up at me and said, "Don't worry. You're not like your family." I looked at her for a second, and I just started to sob. She hit it right on the nose. Without even realising it, I was feeling guilty for thinking I was creating a childhood too like my own.

Guilt is my most unfavorite sensation, so I will go to great lengths to avoid it. In order to rationalize the occasional day that I swim at the gym while the bub sits in school, I tell myself I am using that time to brainstorm story ideas or problem solve the grocery list.

Maybe someday, I'll have some free time to just be and think about nothing at all... hopefully in about 16 years. Hey, that's not too far away when you think about it.

The Hill

Though this is not an endorsement by any means... today I stepped off the "what do I do wagon" and voted for Hillary. I might grow to regret it later, but ya know... I asked myself all the questions again... "Why is Hillary a bitch?" "What don't I like about her policies?" And the answer is, she isn't a bitch. She's just tough and she happens to be a woman. Bitch is just some lame-ass label republicans branded her with along the way. And I do like her policies? They are largely the same as Obama's. But at the end of the day, she's more qualified to get things done. Plus, I am ALL FOR universal health care. And yea, she did vote for the war.... but so did almost everyone... you can't blame her for being duped like the rest of them. You wanna support and believe in your president no matter what party you are in... I think we all hoped and believed Bush would do the right thing in that historical moment.

Who is this Obama guy anyway? Sure he is a great speaker. Sure he's pretty hot for a politician. Sure, I want change. I'm all about change. Sure, I love every word that comes out of his mouth for the most part. But who is he really? He is like betting on a horse to win just cause its coat is shiny and you like the sound of its name.

Obama is probably gonna win anyway, and like I said, I am jazzed and geared up and ready to support him when the time comes. But at the end of the day... putting aside the divisions and the electability and Bill and his past digressions and the bad rap and the Republican hate and all that other bullshit... strip all that away and just look at her as a candidate and I have no doubt that she would make a better president. I might be a naive fool, but so be it.

Enough said.

(Any other Texas ladies out there wondering what to do, check out this article a friend of mine forwarded me. Pretty cool to see we are all free-thinking.)

The Rooster

The bub paints only animals... he entitled this one, simply, The Rooster. I think he might decide what the picture looks like once he is done, but that is beside the point. Still looks pretty roostery to me!

Blue Skies

Sometimes I just love Texas. Now that the weather is getting warmer and we've been coming out to the farm most weekends, I'm seeing the Texas my husband first introduced me to all those years ago. We drove out through Boerne today to meet some friends at The San Antonio Rose, and just riding out on Highway 46 takes me back. Anhalt... Kendalia... Bergheim... Bulverde. Plus, we were out in the Wagoneer, which is the car we drove down here from NYC, so that just added to the nostalgia. Two of my favorite days with the hub were spent going someplace in that car. One was driving Blanco to 46 to Guadalupe State Park for the first time with newly-born Sugar... probably a little buzzed, no jobs, no place to be, no worries. Just being free from the big city was enough to send my spirits to the moon, plus I was still in that honeymoon faze with the Lone Star State. The sun and the low oak trees and the big sky... all so exotic compared to the green, tall forests of the East Coast that I was used to.

Being out and about today, reminded me that all this is new to the bub as well. I mean, not just Texas, but every place I've ever loved will be new to his little heart. So many places to discover and rediscover together. Makes life seem relatively limitless again. Pretty dang cool.

Clap If You Believe

It seems every weekend at the farm is spent attempting to shield my napping son from the sounds of various tools de home improvement. Usually, I blast Spanish music from the clock radio as it is the only station the thing picks up without static, and today, it seems to be working effectively. The hub has spent endless weekends out here sawing and waking the bub, and only today did I think to ask him to move his saws and tools to the other corner of the house, away from underneath the bub's window where they've resided for the last three months. Duh. So, at last, the bub has been able to sleep without being awoken mid-nap to the sound of merengue intertwined with the pneumatic nailer.

Previous to the nap however, the bub and I did what the bub and I do out at the farm of late, and that is we headed deep into the property to look for adventure. Having been reared on 25 wooded acres, I know a thing or two about escaping into the thicket all day and not returning until I was caked in mud and half dead from a life-threatening incident. Seeing as the hub spent his childhood weekends coming out here and frolicking on 400 acres, we are both on the same page as far as wanting the bub to get lost in his own world. Any given weekend, you could find me and my sisters deep in the marsh battling cottonmouths or flipping our Boston Whaler. And the hub's dad used to drop him out here with a shotgun and a sack full of Army-issue M-80s (otherwise known as a quarter sticks of dynamite) and let him and his friends have at it. My sisters and I were usually looking for mythical fairies, ghosts and swamp monsters, while the hub and his brother were in search of rattlesnakes, armadillos and small furry creatures to skin, but the end result was the same... great, great times. Man, those are the childhood recollections you hold onto and miss. Those are the days I look back on and wish I could find myself in again. Those are my deserted-island memories. Not that I am wishing a river capsize or small explosion on the bub, but those kind of kid adventures are vital for growing up a complete and total person.

Sooo, a few months back I noticed that the bub would start taking off with the dogs. I'd turn my back for a second, and the bub would be halfway down the rode, heading into the woods with good 'ole Sugar and Spanky. And watching him, I began to realize that even at 2 and a half, he was looking to get lost in it all.

Though it will be years before I'm ready to let him take off into the bush alone, I can at least chaperone him on some minor forest encounters. We've taken to walking down the road in search of "treasure" in the dry creekbed. "This is my big adventure Mom!" he screams as we turn the corner and head into the oak trees. Usually, all we find are some rusty but detailed pieces of iron or an old tin can or two, but still treasure to the bub none-the-less. We'll only stay gone an hour or so, climbing trees and hiking the small hill behind the house, but when I see how intent and excited he is, I know it seems like way more to him.

I know someday he's not gonna want me tagging along on his big adventures. That moment when Peter Pan arrives at the window sill and Wendy is too old to join him will come soon enough for me, but for now, I'l savor it while I can.

Sunshiney

Soooo.... I don't wanna count my eggs before they've hatched, but a miracle has occurred. For the last week, my screaming, whining, fussing bub has been replaced with a kind, sweet, gentle and complacent angel. I'm not gonna overextend and say that Happy Toddler video was the cause, because the second night using the Fast Food technique was a fucking disaster. The bub had not taken a nap... and by bedtime when he started throwing a gigantic fit, I had reached the end of my rope and was quietly gnawing on the last straw. He was in bed flailing and crying, and I was attempting to talk him down when one of his extremities (an arm? a leg? who knows!) hit me in the eyeball and said eyeball began to weep profusely. I jumped out of bed disgusted, and when I returned, my patience was nil. A screaming match ensued. The hub was horrified. I was in tears. I eventually had to leave the house all together before the hub could finally get him settled down and ripe for nite nite.

The next morning, apologies were exchanged all around. ("I'm so sorry for yelling at you bub..." "I'm sorry for hitting you in the eye momma...") And that is when the abduction occurred. Screaming mee mee out. Genteel sweet pea in.

Who knows what factors caused the shift. My Happiest Toddler moves? The big, remorseful blow out? His third birthday just around the corner? I'm trying not to think on it too hard for fear of a jinx, but it is nothing short of a wonder. I love the bub so much it makes me want to eat him alive... he's been so cute and smart and funny and NICE. No throwing food at the dinner table. No fighting over getting in/out of the car. Just peace, serenity and a zen-like existence that is overflowing with thank-yous, I-love-yous and your-welcomes.

So nice indeed that after four days with no TV, the bub is currently enjoying a full hour of his most coveted DVD -- Meerkat Manor. A little bit of nice goes a long way in my house!

B.O.

So, yea Obama... This blog entry on the New Republic clears up why Obama's speech yesterday in San Antonio seemed a little uninspired to me. Although there were moments when he got the crowd off its feet, it wasn't the gut-wrenching, tear-jerker I'd been prepped for. I'm a sucker for the national anthem, so to me that had more boo-hooing possibilities. Like the article says, he is hunkering down and trying to get the critics off his back by getting into more specifics about what he is going to change rather than just WE NEED CHANGE. Like, duh. I liked the specifics though.

Anyway, I'm still undecided, but after the win in Wisconsin last night for BO (not great initials by the way), if I vote Hillary it might be an empty vote of female-solidarity more than anything. You got to love a woman that has worked her butt off that hard to get where she is... sadly, it will probably be another 50 years before the democratic party can produce another one who even has a chance-in-hell of winning.

That said, I stand poised to adhere a Obama 'O8 sticker to my bumper and get on with it... keeping my fingered crossed that he not only has the stuff to win, but that he's got the guts to keep his promises.

Obama

Am miserable tonight. Caught the flu (again) from the bub who caught it from the hub's dad's girlfriend. And I had to top it off with spending five hours in the blazing sun (sans sunscreen or a hat) at the Obama rally.

Too crispy and fried tonight to write, but I'll fill you in more in the a.m. (I even have a picture or two that I am too lazy to download.) However, I'll will say this... still undecided. If I went expecting to be WOW'd, that was my mistake. He's impressive, but this was not one of his most inspirational speeches. We'll have to see what comes out of the debates Thursday to seal the deal.

I NEED to early vote! Decisions.... decisions... darn it!

Dorothy

So, what we found over at the home of the hub's dad was actually the hub's mother's record collection. Apparently, she had a penchant for Nat King Cole, Pearl Bailey, Herb Albert, banjo music and an Italian named Sergio Franchi. The collection as a whole is a pretty great snapshot of San Antonio in the swinging 60s... including a copy of The Happy Jazz Band, the original incarnation of Jim Cullen's gang. (Though sadly, no Allan Sherman.) Throw in a couple of mariachi recordings and a few Christmas selections, and all in all I'm pretty psyched that the hub's dad let us roll out of there with it. He was really darling about the whole thing... got misty-eyed for a minute remembering the hub's mom and how those albums were her prized possessions.

When we got home, we played some songs from Mexico and then the hub picked out The Singing Nun, the chart-topping album by the infamous Belgian sister. And really, it is quite fabulous. I think it will serve as the bub's nite-nite music for a while.

What's really sweet is that the hub's mom wrote her name on all the albums, and even wrote the date and the name of the person who gave the album to her if it was a gift. The hub says in his collection at the farm he has some Beatles and such that his mom gave him, and she always wrote the date and the occasion on the cover. So cute.

It's kinda cosmic and nice to be putting these records to use again... You know, I can just imagine her, listening to those albums when she stole a moment alone, letting the music take her a million miles away.

Spin

I've been eyeing vintage record players for a while on ebay in hopes of snagging one cheap that is in relatively good shape for the bub, but no luck. People charge way too much for them, and then I'm worried that I won't be able to get replacement needles and the like. Anyway, out and about today at Target, they had a Crosley on sale, so I just bit the bullet. I had been looking at one of the suitcase versions for a while, but when I saw that this one has a CD player, radio, record player and cassette deck, I figured I'd kill lots of birds with one stone. It's pretty cheesy looking but serves its purpose. I had to have something to spin all the kid's 45s I have lying around.

We are going by his dad's house tonight to pick up the hub's childhood album collection (including the aforementioned Allan Sherman LP). He's got a lot of classic stuff in there, plus we have both of our adult LP collections out at the farm that I have yet to root through. I love the 45s, but man, they are short. We listened to about 10 of them, and I had to keep running run back in his room to put a new one on every 3 minutes. Luckily, someday he'll be able to do the flipping himself.

What I'm really psyched about it breaking out my old mix tapes. They are packed up at the farm as well, but come next week, the bub is gonna be rocking to some styling tunes ala 80s. I just have to skip all the sad "I want to win you back" tapes from ex-boyfriends that are jam packed with morose Smiths tunes and way too much Concrete Blonde. I don't want him to start wearing black and writing depressing poetry just yet... there's plenty of time for that later.

Happiest

Oh, and by the way... not to plug a product or give that annoying Dr. Karp with his irritating voice and disgustingly chipper demeanor any business... but I got a chance to try out some of his Happiest Toddler on the Block techniques, and they actually worked. I was able to avert a major tantrum at naptime and get him settled down without so much as a whine. Got my fingers crossed for the future. Perhaps my hopes for a peaceful home aren't forever dashed after all.

Scenes from the Farm

Noon at the farm. As always, we went over to our neighbor's house for breakfast (maple bacon and pancakes), and this morning she treated us to a box of old letters to and from her parents... most dated between 1905 and 1915. Even though she speaks German, she has a hard time reading the script, so she had them out to show to an even older German farm lady who could help her translate the text. The handwriting on some was just lovely, and one letter even had a hand-stenciled and -inked border that was so dainty and sweet.

I really get a kick out of seeing old stuff like that; the paper, the stamps, the penmanship. She laments that her sons won't care about these sorts of things when she's gone and fears it will all end up in the garbage, and I sincerely hope that isn't true. I've often tried to convince her youngest son that he has enough letters and pictures and farm implements to start a small museum in Bulverde, but somehow I doubt that will ever come to fruition.

She'd helped birth two baby goats yesterday, and so after breakfast, we all headed down to the pen to watch her bottle feed. The bub gets so excited seeing the animals and has started naming the goats (Priscilla, Cookie, etc.) and calling them "his friends". Around this time, a friend of Mary Ann's son showed up who is a real character, and not really in a good way. She is very New York and hard and usually turns me off, so I wasn't psyched when Mary Ann suggested she walk back over to our house with me and the bub to see the work the hub was doing on the deck. I have absolutely nothing in common with this woman. She's loud. She cusses like a sailor.... wait a minute... those things aside, you can just tell she's had a really hard life. Been on and off of heavy drugs. Makes her living being the guinea pig for medical research studies. (Seriously, she told me she'd made $1,800 in one day last week testing blood pressure medication.) I've always been nice to her out of obligation to our neighbors, but the less time I have to spend with her the better. So, needless to say, I was thoroughly annoyed.

Once we started walking, she began to tell me about her fiancé who just happens to be an inmate at Riker's Island, and as her story went on, I started to feel something besides annoyance. She told me that at almost 50 years old, she's never felt love before. That no one has ever held her hand... that she doesn't know how to kiss even... that her whole life has been this fucked up mess. Apparently she lived next door to this man growing up. They'd been best friends and each other's protectors, and when she moved away at 12, both had been devastated. She'd spent all those years thinking about him, and two years ago decided to look him up, thus how she found him in prison. The first time she went to see him was on his birthday, and they both cried and held each other for six hours. Letters started and phone calls... things went from there. Just going back to that young, warm safe place for them, when they were kids, before they fell into the horrible realities of life in inner city New York. He shot heroin for the first time at 12, and did his first paid arson job at 13. He's been convicted of armed robbery 28 times, and has spent most of his adult life behind bars. She's been used and abused by men, and been jacked up on every illegal substance known to man.

As she is telling this story, the bub is chasing chickens and dodging in and out of the various implements of junk scattered off the road. At one point, he ran over and grabbed her hand and then insisted that she hold mine too. It was strange at first... the three of us walking hand and hand down this little dirt road, but then the woman's eyes began misting up. I'm sure it isn't often (never) that she walks down the street holding hands with strangers and the moment was really moving in a way. She said that she wanted to get off drugs, to go to the Rodeo and eat cotton candy and take walks in the park. All that normal stuff she'd never had before. She was trying so hard to stay clean, and wasn't sure how she was gonna be able to keep him out of trouble once he got out. She believes that he's really reformed, and that they might actually have a chance to make a go of it. Come Septmeber of next year, they're gonna find out.

Once we got back to our house, she spent most of the time playing with Sugar and Spanky (despite the fact that Spanky got skunked yesterday afternoon and smells like a baboon's rear end). The bub was laughing and playing, throwing rocks into the stock tank for Sugar to retrieve. When we finally said goodbye to her, the bub kissed her on the lips and then she really began to cry, turned and quickly walked back down the road...

You know, we see people. Or at least the hard outside core that is visible, and we make assumptions about them. Yet, here was this woman, struggling so hard with life and trying to hold onto love in this horrible hand she's been dealt. I watched her walking away, her hair shining in the sun, and my heart went out to her. Just what a crapshoot life is... and how truly lucky I am. Sometimes it is so easy to take love for granted.

Pledge

The Bub Pledges from Scribbler on Vimeo.

Saturday

The Animal Waltz from Scribbler on Vimeo.

Rodeo

So what do you do when you have the first day to yourself in months? Crisscross all over town and then clean house of course. The hub took his dad and the bub to the rodeo today, so I had the whole morning to myself. I started by hitting the tablecloth sale down at Sunset Ridge Hardware... then made it over to the library sale at Oakwell, I mean, Tobin. Then came home and cleaned out my filthy excuse for a car.... vacuumed, shampooed the seats, washed the exterior and even scrubbed the wheels. I finished up by straightening the house and had just gotten to the bub's room when I heard the car pull up. And as I'm sitting in the middle of a pile of toys, dirty Baby Gap underwear and week old sippy cups, I realize, my whole day to myself has just evaporated doing things for everyone else.

Granted, the tablecloths were for me and if I had to spend one more minute in the nasty car, I was gonna be sick, but still... Never a moment to sit and just be. Where does the time go? Of course, it's worse when you’re working. I can see it every night in the hub's eyes when he gets home... I ask him how the day was, but it's the same every day. Knowing full well that one day (soon) the hub is gonna wake up and be 60 and think, "Where did the time go?" At least being home with the bub, I get to tag along on his elongated mornings and endless afternoons... so it kinda feels as if time is slowing.

Once we got the bub down for a nap, we were both so exhausted (me from schlepping all over hell and high water and him from wrangling ala rodeo all morning) that all we could do was sit in bed and watch Happiest Toddler on the Block. (I rented it today thinking it might help me figure out how to stomach the bub tantrums, but that guy's annoying "baby talk" just made he want to throttle him.)

The hub is currently snoozing at my elbow. The bub had a massive meltdown on him at the rodeo. Basically, he didn't want to ride the ponies, but then he did want to ride the ponies, and then no, no, no pony, but wait, are we leaving now? I thought I was gonna ride the pony!?! I WANNA GO BACK AND RIDE THE PONY!

15 minutes later, when the bub finally settled down, the hub had to ride home getting nasty asides from his dad about the bub's behavior... Welcome to my world man.

I was packing my overnight bag for the farm this morning, and slipped in the book I've been nursing for a month. Wishful thinking I suppose, but I should just admit that my time for reading has passed, and that someday... maybe 20 years from now, I'll be able to finish that copy of Riding in Cars with Boys. (Like I'm not living it anyway.)

(And yea, the zebra. I'm not sure what's up with that. I feel obligated to post a picture, and this one seemed as good as any.)

Da Roof

It's 8:17... do you know where your husband is? Well, if yours is anything like mine, he's spending the evening driving out to the farm to get the Wagoneer and his trailer and driving back in so that he can buy lumber tomorrow bright and early, take the bub to the rodeo and continue working on the money-pit of a project that is our screen porch.

We had planned to spend under $1000 on the damn thing. And currently we are at that, and still no roof, walls or screen to speak of. The problem stems from the hub getting his friend (a true and excellent contractor) to help him so it ended up being a far more sophisticated and sturdy home addition than he would have made had he been concepting on his own. Weekend by weekend the budget has slowly gotten bigger and bigger. Originally we planned to have a professional do the roof.... but both guys we talked to wanted $2000.... for a fucking screened porch with a tin roof... can you believe it!?! I mean come on. The whole house only cost $5,000 when we had to have a new roof put on a few years back. But whatever....

So the hub will be undertaking the roof project himself. His friend has bowed out for the most part due to time and back constraints, so I believe that unless his brother shows up to chip in, the hub will be doing it all himself. This outta be good.

Sweetheart

Three bunches of flowers, a jar of kosher dills and a bag of peppered beef strips. The hub sure does know the way to a lady's heart. The morning went swimmingly, though I have a blaring sugar headache from all the sweet stuff I mooched off the bub.

Actual quote from the bub this morning upon seeing his Valentine surprise... "Oh, thank you mom for making such a beautiful party."

(Insert awwwwwws here and watch as all those weeks of bottled animosity toward the bub lift off and evaporate into peals of giggles and hugs.)

You know, I try and fight the marketing urge of pointless, money-sucking holidays like this one, but it's hard when you are walking in the footsteps of two crafty grandmothers (and when you're a girl who happens to LOVE flowers, pickles and beef jerky).

Growing up, my mom was queen of the holiday, and I didn't wake up one Valentine's Day morning when there wasn't a full spread on the dining room table complete with cakes, candy and presents. (Save the Valentine's Day when my dad walked out on my mom the night before, so we woke up to the cake still in the box on the kitchen counter, my mom heaving her guts out in the guestroom and our dad AWOL.... Still as an in-joke, my mom and sisters all call Valentine's Day the "anniversary of our real family"... but I won't go any deeper into that because it starts to sound pathetic.)

Anyway, I put the dog on for the bub, and I feel pretty good about it. He was so excited when he came into the room and saw the candles lit and the stuffed peacock and the cupcakes. He colored on all his Valentine's cards for his school friends last week, and he's been talking about today ever since. Totally psyched and jacked and into it.... Kids and holidays are AWESOME.

We spent the morning gorging on sugar and attempting to translate the Corazones Dulces I bought him. And tonight all three of us are driving to Universal City (ack) to hit a Thai place we've been hearing about for years. We would have had a more formal mommy/daddy date, but seeing as the bub's sitter is also the hub's dad's girlfriend... her night was taken. I suppose if we ever wanna go out on a romantic holiday again, it would behoove us to find a pimply-faced preteen with no social life to speak of. Then at least the bub could flirt with her and she'd get some action.

Speaking of, I am hoping the bub will be one of those guys... those guys who flirt will all women no matter what they look like or how old they are. I find those types of guys to be hugely endearing and attractive, and would love nothing more than to have a son who spreads the love to all the ladies (figuratively speaking of course.)

Valentine

What the bub will see when he wakes up...

Escuela

So, with the flip of my wrist over a $250 enrollment check, the deal is done. Am I happy? Um... kinda?

Even though I got on the waiting list at this place when the bub was but a four-month-old speck of a person still cooking inside my womb, I did not get the program of choice (three day a.m. with an extended Wednesday) and had to opt for my second choice (four day p.m. with a Thursday lunch hour).

This sucks for a number of reasons:

1. He will be thrust into a nightmare... oh, I mean... nap-free life before his time.

2. All of his current running buddies will be going to school in the a.m., so opportunities to hang with them are gonna be cut dramatically.

3. It would have just been so much cooler to get what I want, no?

Pluses?

1) Well, that means we can have the fun loving morning to ourselves... music classes, the zoo, the park, etc., and just when I start to get frazzled, he'll be whisked away to preschool almost every afternoon.

Um.... that's about it for the pluses.

Ultimately, it is just a year, as hopefully next year he'll squeeze into the five day a.m. program of choice, but geez, if I start sweating that now, I'll have an ulcer and heart attack before we even hit Sadie Hawkins Day. Shit. How am I supposed to survive elementary school?

WOW

A friend posted this on his blog and although I try not to get sucked into this type of pulling-of-the-emotional-heartstrings propaganda, this is pretty damn good. Try not to cry through this one.

Only a Day Away

Thank god! Tomorrow is the sign-up day for the bub's new school, and I couldn't be more thrilled that the "Great Preschool Ordeal of 2005 - 2008" is almost over. I laughed to a friend this afternoon that I'm gonna wear blinders into the office in the a.m., so if anything shifty is going on, I won't take notice. Like she said, I'm never gonna think any place is as good as what he gets at home, so I should just stop worrying about it.

That's great advice at the tailend of two years of unadulterated stress and anxiety -- solidified today when I picked up the bub from preschool at his current hell and he told me that they watched TV, but the teacher told him to not tell me. Nice right? A gorgeous day outside... 75 degrees... and the "teacher" has him watching TV inside and then tells him to lie to me about it. I would have called her up and railed into her, but she did bring a live snake into class for the kids to see, so I gave her a pass this time. Just keeping the blinders on until May... And hell is a harsh word as both his teachers are very loving and sweet... it's just that when every art project that comes home is product-driven and looks like a ten-year-old did it, I am doubting that he's getting much out of it. But hey, I could be some mom forced to work two jobs just so she can keep her kid in some crappy day care that feeds him or her Cheetos all day and hour upon hour of outdated Barney VHSs. Ah, us Generation X mothers... always over-thinking what we should be simply thankful for.

Speaking of thankful, my third favorite man on the face of the earth, my cousin and godfather to the bub found out his wife will be giving birth to a boy this summer... So what do you name a son who's father is obsessed with Italian history and art, opera and Star Wars.... My suggestion? "Il Duce" Puccini Obi Wan Medici Polk Lawson the first (otherwise known as "The Rat").

In final news, looks like I'll be hoping for an Obama/Edwards ticket... still holding out on the bumper sticker though... still flirting... playing the field.. not ready to make a commitment.... (Does that make me a ho?)

Idawho?

So yea... the land in Idaho. What's up with that?

Well, as you constant readers know, we sold the rent house we'd spend years fussing over, and the cash has to go somewhere. Since the stock market seems to be out at the moment, we figured land is always a good option. We have friends who've been developing some property in very remote Idaho, and since they are the easiest couple to believe in, we jumped at the chance to get on board.

So, once the money goes through, we will be the proud owners of six acres in Idaho. It is literally in the middle on nowhere. Google map it and it is just this one road cutting through the rocky nothingness. But it does happen to be very close to a certain national park with a silently booming tourist trade. And since the taxes are low, we figure we don't have much to lose. The potential for gain way outweighs any loss, so to hell with it.

Not to mention it's fun to think we have somewhere in middle America where we can pitch a tent and call it home. In all likelihood, we will never actually see the land, but it's still a comforting thought.

DONATE YOUR TAX REBATE

As far as donating our tax rebate...

We've discussed Kiva... the little non-profit du jour that helps donors make business loans to people in third world countries... but then, there is always the old fallback. Probably my favorite .org in the country... The amazing bunch of people at The South Poverty Law Center who keep tabs on hate groups in the US.

These guys are truly fighting the good fight.

(According to this map, it looks like the Dakotas are the place to be if you wanna live hate free!)

Sunny Day

OK so, today I...

Saw a cock fight between two barnyard roosters.
Roasted a chicken (unrelated to the aforementioned poultry).
Bought a Dustbuster.
Contemplated donating my tax rebate check to Kiva.
Watched the Artisocats (vintage Disney is the only Disney).
Debated Hillary vs Obama with a black woman and a man from Syria.
Rocked the bub on the back deck under the stars.
(He told me is gonna build a ladder so he can touch the moon.)
And the hub and I purchased a piece of land in Idaho (go figure).

All random, yes, but combined... make for a way better day than Friday.


The Running Man from Scribbler on Vimeo.

Brat?

This week, I had two freelance deadlines, and the woman who watches the bub periodically bailed on me. (Her grandson had a 102 fever and she had to watch him, so I shouldn't gripe.)

However, this did make for a thoroughly stressful week. That's the thing about kids, if you can focus 100% of your attention on them and never go anywhere, then life would be sweet. Amazingly though, the bub was a doll all week. Taking three hour naps... playing quietly in his room or in the yard while I worked. Genuinely being a trooper, and making do with only about half my time.

Then, we came to last night. I'd finally finished all the work and to celebrate I thought we'd head to the Central Market for Cuban sandwiches and lemonade, as a reward for him being a good boy all week and as a breather from having to make dinner. Alas....

I swear, the clerks at the Central Market must see us coming a mile away and cringe. I probably should have known better, as he'd had a long day already and only an hour before had sucked all the frosting off a birthday cupcake. It's my mistake too for allowing him to go sans shopping cart, but when we pull into the parking lot, I always think it will be different this time. That this time he won't run around like a mad man, heading five aisles down and disappearing when I only turn away for a second. That he won't drag me to the candy aisle and start whining that all the Christmas candy is gone. That he won't grab all the takeout containers from the salad bar and throw them on the ground.

If there had been a hidden camera in the bathroom yesterday, the bub would probably have been hauled off by Social Services and a clip would have ended up on Youtube with the title "Mommy Loses Mind in Public Restroom and Tries To Flush Toddler". After demanding sushi and then, once again, refusing to eat anything but the rice... after causing a scene and screaming at me in the middle of the store... after putting his mouth on the toilet flush after I begged him not to.... I finally snapped... right there in the handicap stall.

I was yelling at him... not screaming, but I probably still scared the crap out of anyone else in the bathroom.... and when he grabbed my scarf and started wiping the floor with it, I told him he could take everything... it was all for him... that I couldn't have anything nice for myself.... that he was killing me with his bad attitude... that his behavior was driving me insane and I couldn't take it anymore... that we were never, ever, ever going anywhere fun again!!!!!

By the time we finally made it back to the car, the bub was screaming and crying, and I felt guilty for being so hard on him when he's just a baby really. I guess, sometimes he seems so smart and sophisticated, that when he actually acts his age, it just throws me for a loop. He's been acting up some today, and just now we had a mini episode which involved him purposely smashing something I'd just spent a half hour doing and then him screaming demands at me on the toilet.

In both instances, he was acting like (dare I say it... not about my son...) a spoiled brat. And I can't help but wonder... is this just a phase, normal for his age... or am I indeed raising a brat?

I've got my fingers crossed that the rest of the weekend goes well, but at this point, if I don't kill him (or myself), that will be a plus.

Time in a Bottle

Geez... is it Wednesday already? I feel like my life is dripping away. Yesterday, while on a play date, I told the bub we were staying 15 more minutes and then we had to leave. He started to whine, but his friend quickly pointed out that 15 minutes was a long, long time. Alas, to be young and living in a reality where you can actually stop the world and melt with somebody. Whereas, if I pause in front of the mirror long enough, my internal time-lapse kicks in and I can actually see the hairs on my head turning grey.

I was one of those naive young 'uns that saved my first grey hair... gently taping it into my diary like some ticket stub or novelty item. Little did I know that there were a hundred more where that came from, and that looking back on that moment might not be of interest to me in the coming years.

When the hub and I first started dating, it felt like he was a million years older than me, but now it seems as if he gets younger and more robust by the minute while I age faster and faster... slipping (hardly) gracefully into being a middle-aged housewife replete with sweatpants and rosacea. AWESOME.

Signs

Am not feeling well today. I have a major deadline looming over my head and the bub is driving me positively batty when all I wanna do is sleep, but I thought I would post this little bit of knowledge before passing out when the hub gets home.

I have discovered the porthole to Hell. I've often heard jokes about this, but yesterday... the prophecy was realized.

If you stand on the overpass at Blanco Road and 1604 here in San Antone, you can actually see THREE Starbucks all at the same time. Literally on three points of the four point road. All right across the streets from each other. Like this:There... where 1604 and 281 meet in a cross-like formation... is where the entrance to Hell's eternal flames lies. I mean, isn't that one of the seven signs of the Apocalypse... locusts... oceans turning to blood... and thou shalt see three Starbucks within 200 yards of each other?

God help us.

Monday

The Painting Man from Scribbler on Vimeo.

No Mas

Isn't it great that every day is a new day? The hub and I had the "do we have a second child or does the hub get a vasectomy" talk this morning, and I think we've pretty much settled on sticking with one. There is a HUGE part of me that wants a second child. Mainly for the "I don't want the bub to be alone in the world when we're gone" reason, but intellectually, I also understand that one is easy... one is cheap... the one we already have is healthy and happy, why tempt fate?

The hub is 52. I am 35. A few years back, the hub's father gave him an article about how birth defects are now proven to link back to not just the mother's age, but the father's as well. That little nugget of wisdom has stayed with him in the back of his mind ever since.

As I've mentioned before, having spent his life taking care of first a terminally-ill mother, then a paralyzed stepchild and finally a terminally-ill girlfriend, the hub is not too thrilled with the idea of having his heart broken a fourth time if something should go wrong with baby number two. I understand his fears. Strangely (and this is getting really personal, but I hope the hub won't mind) the hub told me the other day that he wondered if I knew that he spent most of the lovemaking process worrying about me getting pregnant. Seeing as we use a pretty old-fashioned form of birth control (if you get my drift) I can see now why he would be freaked about it... but honestly, me getting pregnant was not something I ever thought about when in the throes of love, so it was interesting (and now totally obvious) to see it from the hub's point of view. What a selfish woman I have been. Duh.

So... this morning, with the sun streaming in through the curtains and the hub's earnest face telling me his side of the "why I think we shouldn't have another child" debate, I gave in. Strangely, ever since he confided in me last week about his pregnancy worries, I've had this weird feeling that I actually am pregnant, but I'm sure that is just wishful thinking. As I told the hub this morning, we've spent eight years having sex the way we currently have sex and the one and only time we did it with wanting to have a kid in mind was the time we got a kid... so if here, on the verge of his getting a vasectomy, we by some chance happen to accidentally get pregnant, I will take that as a sign from the gods and feel blessed. Otherwise, come Monday morning, he has free reign to dial up his doc and make an appointment. After all, I wouldn't want worries about making babies fogging up his mind when he should be thinking about me. :) So, alas, one it is.

Empathy

As I sit here listening through the baby monitor at the bub doing what sounds like sawing a log -- and I'm not talking about snoring, I'm talking about something that actually sounds like he's SAWING A LOG -- I am tempted to peek in on him, but I've learned not to tempt fate. One peep at my mug and he's libel to make a crappy day even crappier for me. I'll just let him build whatever skyscraper he's in there building and hope that Mr. Pei gets pooped eventually and passes out.

I am experiencing today what I fondly like to refer to as a cluster fuck. And I know, I'm supposed to be curbing my language so that the dear sweet bub doesn't take after his mom and become a trash-talking street walker, but today is the exception. When you wake up with a headline like this -- Twin Bombs Kill Scores in Baghdad: Two mentally disabled women were used to carry bombs that were detonated remotely in Baghdad, officials say -- the day's bound to be good.

Take for instance, having a telephone conversation with my mom. Every one is the same. She starts talking in this uber-cheery voice, making a lame attempt to sound fulfilled and happy, when she and I both well know she is just waiting for me to ask her what's wrong so that she can tell me her woes. It's like, she doesn't want to be a downer all the time, so she tries to pass off her life -- at least in the short term -- as happy and contented so I won't think all she does is boohoo all the time. When really she is just lonely and dying to get a compassionate ear. And I understand that, more than she'll ever know. But you know what? Even empathy has a price. I am not about to dump my problems on to her and add to what I'm sure already feels like the weight of the universe.

Isn't it funny that no matter what situation each of us is in, we are always trying to make the most of it. No one is completely happy, even when happiness might seem but a fraction of a moment away. It's like with the Internet. All these hundreds of thousands of people all yapping at the same time, but does anyone really hear? I suppose they do on some level, but usually someone will see that sadness or whatever reflected in their own, and it will become a catharsis for themselves rather than a true reaching out to help that other person. We're all so in our own heads that it becomes almost impossible to really understand any one else.

Someone I care about enormously asked me to try and understand them today, on a really deep and intimate level. But to understand them in that way would mean giving something of myself up. Something important and fundamental, that I am just not willing and ready to lose. But you know what? The sad truth is, I've already lost it... I guess that's what hurts the most.