I'm Dying

In the shadow of my very first local blog "friend" flirting with abandoning his blog to move on, I have to admit that I too am losing my blog mojo. For a while there, I was getting so sucked into writing every single day and reading every single day... that my real life started to suffer and I feared I might actually be addicted... Which is fine for someone sitting at home with no life and a love of role playing games (no offense all you gamers out there), but for somebody who actually has a pretty full life, I was starting to feel a little too consumed. Burnt out, if you will.

So, I've been backing off the feeling that I have to write on my other blog every day, and some days I let it slip all together. And the weird thing is, I feel compelled to apologize. And I genuinely feel bad. And here, I've been having a hard time finding the time, if you know what I mean. I started backing off and, you know what, dinner actually started getting on the table on time. I started playing with the Bub more (as if that were possible) and getting to the gym more and working on my book more. Because, as you know, there is only so much the mother of a toddler can do without losing her mind.

I feel guilty because these blogs have really just been a place to spew, a getaway, a place to scream to the heavens and see if anyone gives a damn. I miss writing every day, but as it is, I go from morning til night without even a moment to myself, a moment of rest on the couch or doing nothing. (And I think I want another kid, geez.) I cleaned out my blogroll so I would stop wasting time reading stuff I don't really need to be reading, and it feels good. And again, here, sometimes my white girl woe just feels so empty and this blog is a magnifying glass to how lame my worries are. Ugh.

Every moment of the day should be a blessing, a simple treat we all get to enjoy before we pass on and die and no one remembers how we liked our coffee or the way our hair smelled. It really makes me wonder what will happen to all the words in the decades to come. Will they hang in cyberspace indefinitely? Will others be able to sift through them like anthropological relics, in vain attempts to squeeze out some kind of meaning or understanding of the 21st century mom? Will I live long enough to be able to hold these words up to the man my son will become and compare and truly see how far we've come?

A friend of mine in NYC recently told me she's become a death doula. All you natural childbirth moms out there know what a birth doula is, so just imagine the opposite. A person who is there to help you go out of life instead of come into it. Lots of death doulas are people who get the mail, run errands, get medicine... but she's becoming the heavy hitter, the one they call in when someone has cosmic turmoil. The one who is willing to go to the deep dark corners and look into the soul of another human being when they have no one else and really see it and touch it and be there to say goodbye. The person that is there to hold your heart while you rage against the dying of the light.

Now that is important work. That is a life's work. That is something to hang your hat on at the end of the day.

I guess what I am saying is, I am still here. I might be putting my coat on, but I'm not out the door yet. My life is important, even if only to the boy who has my blood in his veins. If I do nothing more in my one chance than be there as a life doula for my son, then... that is enough my friends. That is enough.

Baby Envy

So yea, I want another baby. And I know my want of another child is a small blip in the universe, and I've struggled with it back and forth, but I'm pretty sure I want another kid. The Hub is not down with the idea, as you know, and I am struggling with the why of wanting one myself, thus why the convincing hasn't begun. But the want is more visceral than that. It is more of an organic feeling than something I can vocalize to my husband. My son wants me to have a baby. I want my son to have a sibling. I want him to have that love, and I am willing to take the chance that they won't hate each other. Honestly, I think whether or not they do depends entirely on me and the hub. I can understand and appreciate all the reasons why the Hub doesn't want to have one... and when he asks me why I do, I am at a loss. I could say... oh, its cause I want to smell a baby again... I want to hold a baby again... But really, it is much deeper than that. My son loves me. I love my son. My husband loves both of us. And I look in my heart and think... we could have even more of that love if we want. That love that is so delicious and edible and wonderful... we could have more of it if we wanted. Everyday of my life, I look at my son and cry. I look at him and feel overwhelmed by how he makes me feel. It feels wonderful. He is so great and awesome and sweet and smart and fun, wouldn't it be the best to have another?

Please everyone, talk me out of/ talk me into this feeling so I can get out of limbo. I'll be 37 this summer. My time is running short.

Fiesta Flambeau

Though Fiesta lasts two weeks in San Antonio, we usually only get to a handful of events... and this year due to our NYC trip, we only made it to one. Bypassing our annual day parade trip, we opted for the night parade instead. I have to say, though I am a cynic about these sorts of events in general, parades are soooo much fun. I mean, who doesn't love a parade? It is so easy to get sucked in and be a kid again, especially watching the Bub bounce off the walls every time a band marched by. I was happy to see that the Special Olympics marchers got the biggest reaction from the crowd, followed closely behind by the University of Texas Band, the Budweiser Clydesdales, the Star Wars Society of San Antonio and the Marines (in that order).

The Hub (anti-Chinese made products king that he is) shocked me repeatedly by splurging on an array of cheap plastic items and food products for the Bub from those rolling kiosks, and though I balked at first, I have to say the light saber is WAY cool. And who can frown on a $2 bag of cotton candy, really? I mean, isn't it almost required to eat cotton candy at a parade?

Highlight of the evening had to have been when a woman handed her new born baby over to a costumed cardinal mascot in a high school band from New Hampshire for a photo op. The baby couldn't have been older than two or three weeks. What that child was doing at a Fiesta parade at 10 pm is beyond me, but even still, to hand that baby over to a high school kid (a complete stranger!) in bird drag who'd just performed a somersault was beyond weird. Plus, the camera took forever to boot up and the kid stood there awkwardly in his outfit for a good minute or so cradling the baby and I'm sure wondering what the hell was going on. I can just hear those yanks talking about it back at the hotel now. Like Texas didn't have a bad enough rep already. Ha!

That said, the boy stayed up until midnight tonight and had a blast, as usual. Bravo San Antonio!

Childhood's End

I'm mot sure if this is abnormal or not, but the Bub has a ton of empathy. Almost more than I can stand really. There are some things his heart aches over that make me wonder, how could he possibly understand? One thing in particular that breaks his heart is growing old -- as in he does not want to do it. Whenever you talk about him being a big boy, or what he will be like when he grows up, it always reduces him to tears and he repeats his mantra "Once a red apple, always a red apple." You see, his class at school is called the red apples, and his wish is to remain one forever.

The other night, we lay in bed together and I sang him a song my Dad wrote when I was little called "When I Was a Boy"...

When I was a boy, a very little boy
I looked to the stars so far away
And wondered if I could ever reach them
If I really tried.

When I was a boy, a very little boy.

I planned just how I'd find my dream
I struggled to succeed
I turned away from those who warned me
failing to take heed.

Now I'm not a boy,
No, I'm no little boy.
I climbed to the stars this very day.
And to my surprise what I had worked for
now had turned to lies.
I found that my stars
Those glittering stars
My beautiful stars
Were clay.

It had been quite a while since I sang this to him, but when I got to the "Now I'm not a boy/ No, I'm no little boy" part, he started bawling. "I'm always gonna be your baby momma. Once a red apple, always a red apple. I don't wanna grow up!" He's shaking and sad like he really understands what is so devastating about growing up in the first place. I wonder why emotion runs through him to make him act so sad about growing old or dying so young. Part of me wonders if he hasn't picked that up from me. Childhood's end of course is my life's work.... a mystery I am constantly trying to untangle.

Case in point, at Mary Ann's funeral a few months back, we really talked with him before hand about what a funeral was and knowing there was gonna be an open casket, I prepped him that he might actually see Mary Ann and not to be afraid. He told me he wanted to take her a flower, so before we left, I stopped by the flower shop and bought him a yellow rose. All through the service at the church, we managed to evade seeing Mary Ann in the casket, but at the graveside service, I was surprised that they opened the casket there too. The pallbearers did something I'd never seen before in that they all placed their boutonnieres into the casket with Mary Ann. Naturally, I asked the Bub if he wanted to put his flower in too and he agreed. I picked him up and walked over to the casket, but at soon as we got close and he could see her, he started wiggling to get down and said he didn't want to do it anymore. So, I sent him on his way, and dropped the rose in the box myself.

Well, after the service, the Bub and Mary Ann's granddaughter (who are almost the same age) were playing around the graveyard, collecting plastic flowers that had blown off the graves and caught on the chain link fence. Pretty much everyone was heading back to their cars and was saying goodbye, and I could sight the granddaughter, but began to wonder where the Bub was...

Later, the Hub told me that he'd been getting ready to head to the car himself and when he couldn't find the Bub, he looked all around and finally spotted him sneaking back over to the grave site... the casket stood all alone, open with no one around and the Bub tiptoed up, looked around suspiciously, and then without missing a beat, lobbed one of the plastic roses he was holding into the casket and walked off. Totally unafraid and sure of himself.

But, perhaps I read too much into these things. All I know for sure is he's a wee little cosmic being, that one.

I Made It

New York.
Lived the American Museum of Natural History Museum again.
Walked until my calves burned.
Got the Bub to the top of the Empire State Building...
...though I am still asking myself why.
I ate and then ate and ate some more.

Ahhh, now, back to reality... Got disheartened having heard a dozen or so old friends say, "Oh, I didn't recognize you at all." This was my first time back when I wasn't just a middle-America-suburban-house-wife-tourist... but I actually looked like a middle-America-suburban-house-wife-tourist. So now, I am on a diet to pay penance for the last five years of Texas BBQ. That and I have exactly 11 days to pull together the Bub's fourth birthday party. I am hand sewing gift bags. What the hell is wrong with me?

That said... doesn't Texas look gorgeous right now? After spending a week in an apartment the size of my current bathroom (I CAN'T BELIEVE I LIVED LIKE THAT FOR A DECADE), it was heaven to wake up Monday morning to space and green. Really, San Antonio couldn't get any more perfect than it is at this very moment. Talk to me in August though, and I'm sure I'll be humming a different tune... though you might not be able to hear it over the din of the air conditioner.

NYC Food

Ahhh. New York.

Ham, egg and cheese on a roll from the corner bodega.
Falafel plate from Rainbow off Union Square.
White and margherita pizza at Lombardi's.
Murray's bagels with a shmir.
Belgian fries from Pomme Frites with malt vinegar.
Spring food porn at the Union Square Green Market.
Eleni's cookies at Chelsea Market (penguin-shaped, of course).
Cupcake Cafe selections in chocolate at Books of Wonder.

Still four days to go...

Happy Easter from Virginia

Happy Birthday Hub

Though tomorrow is technically his birthday, we had a little impromptu party on the half-finished new screen porch tonight. Come the am, we will be handing the keys over to house sitters and getting on a plane, so the birthday revelry might be limited to a shared Frappuccino and a newsstand copy of The Economist. What you see here is the aftermath of steak, sweet potatoes, roasted eggplant and green beans, lemon pound cake, peach ice cream and an entire bottle of Penfolds sprinkled with gifts of socks, 501s, a Crock Pot and a Bread Machine. Who knows what the hell I was thinking. If we are lucky, we might be able to sneak away for a late dinner once in Virginia.... alone. (Gasp!) Anywho, see you on the East Coast.

Wonderpet

Wow. What a terrible weekend. Yard sales are far too much work with far too little payoff. By Saturday night my candle was so scorched at both ends, the Hub was beginning to suspect that I was quite literally losing my mind. Somewhere in the middle of all this, I decided that I was going to sew the Bub his Wonderpet's cape....

As you know, I try not to let the Bub watch too much TV and what little he does comes in the form of classic Disney movies and videos we rent from the library... one of which just happens to be The Wonderpets.... a mildly cute but totally uneducational show about opera singing super pets which he likes because one of them in a duck. On some past day, I promised him I would make him a green cape just like Ming Ming's (the duck, of course). So, needless to say, at the end of a very long day, for some unknown reason, I sat down to sew... soon after, I sent the Bub off to bed and promised I would leave the cape outside his door so that when he woke up he could put it on and surprise me and Daddy in bed. Well, somewhere around 10pm, the sewing machine jammed. I spent two hours going crazy trying to fix it, and when I finally gave up and decided to put it away, the cord got caught on my foot and the darn thing ended up crashing to the floor. Before just kinda broken... now really broken. I cried and felt like a total loser. And the very next morning, almost half of my yard sale earnings went into a new sewing machine. Only until the cape was finished and on the boy's back did the weekend finally get good.

You know, I tend to pile way too much onto my plate and then totally crash when I get overwhelmed. The Hub is a pal for indulging my obsessions and a saint for picking me up and dusting me off in the aftermath. You know, with so much good and bad in the world. Michele Obama touching the Queen (awesome). The ocean slowing turning into a big cesspool of garbage (not so awesome). People losing their jobs and their minds... War. Poverty. Pollution. Cancer. Sunflowers. Vine ripened tomatoes. Baby finches. It is mildly comforting to know my petty little dramas matter to someone. Thanks Hub... Wonderpet.

Boppy

As you know, we've been prepping for ye grand 'ole yard sale here at the homestead. I've had a week plus of sorting through all the Bub's baby clothes and toys, separating the sentimental keepers from the rest and feeling all the more free of clutter with every pair of Robeez that I priced to move. I took a long break from the junk sifting to tag along with the Bub's class trip to the zoo this afternoon. Seeing as we used to live there the second year of his life, it was fun to see him all grown up and independent, leading the way and wowing the crowd with his knowledge of ocelots, okapis and cassowaries. The way he was so confident talking to the ladies, leading the guys, holding a random hand... telling a joke. ("Hey Momma." "What?" "Chicken butt!" or "Knock Knock." "Who's there?" "Smellmipe." "Smellmipewho." Ha!)

This evening when the Hub came home from work, he began unloading bigger items out of the attic and as he passed each thing down, I did the numbers in my head of how much I thought I could get for each one. The glider. His crib. His walker. I contemplated how I could get the stickers unstuck from the side of his changing table. Would alcohol pull the paint off? Amazingly, I felt zero attachment. Not even an ounce of remorse or nostalgia... until... The Hub passed down a large black garbage bag. "Oh, I thought... my Boppy, that will get a few bucks." I unwrapped it, and reached down to the bottom of the bag and found the cover. "Such a pretty cover," I thought. It was one of my favorite gifts at one of my three baby showers because it was green cotton chenille on one side and a sort of toile on the other, the motif featuring children playing with geese and goslings. At the time, I hadn't seen one like it and I immediately fell in love.

I began to slip the cover over the C-shaped pillow, all the while thinking, "Oh, someone is really gonna love this." I ran my fingers over the chenille stripes. The Bub walked over and ran his wee hands over the fabric too.

ME: Do you remember what this is Bub?

My eyes began to well up... He nodded and hugged the pillow. His eyes began to well up.

BUB: Na Nas.

I scooped him up and slid him right on the pillow just like old times. We hugged and cried and I thought back to the hundreds of times he slept on that pillow, nursing and crying... laughing, smiling. My boobs where so unwieldy that I dragged that Boppy everywhere with us. I really didn't feel comfortable nursing without it. It was the Bub's launch pad. My security blanket. The glue that held us together. I nursed him on that pillow until he was 21 months old.

We both cried for a good ten minutes. Holding each other. Somewhere in the middle of it the boy reached up and touched my cheek. "I'll always be your baby Momma." He fell asleep tonight cuddled into the curve of the C...

Long story short, there is no way in hell I am ever selling that Boppy.

Deck Be Gone

Trivial foot note to my life... our old deck is gone. The contractors start on the new porch next week. Mosquitoes be damned!