Last night, as I was tucking my boys into bed, Andrew looked me in the eye and asked me what was wrong.
“I can tell something’s wrong, mom. You seem sad.”
I told him I wasn’t feeling good, that my kidneys have been hurting again and it was making me very tired.
“And depressed?”
I was taken aback for a second.
Funny how you think you can hide things from your children, but they know.
“A little bit, baby, but I’ll be ok.”
“I hope you don’t get the bad depression again. You were always crying and you forgot to give me a birthday party that year”
Did you just hear that sound? That was my heart breaking into a million tiny pieces.
I knew it affected my children, I knew that they paid a price for my mostly selfish depression, but at that moment, I realised HOW it affected them.
The guilt is somewhat overwhelming this morning. The fact that him seeing me sad makes him worry inside, it’s too much to bear.
I hugged him, told him I was sorry and assured him that will NEVER happen again.
I’m not going to give into these thoughts, this sadness, this depression.
It’s funny. I was happily strolling along the path of life, when out of NOWHERE, depression hit me like a bat to the head and suddenly, I found myself on the ground, unable to get up, unable to catch my breath.
But this time, I cried out to God, I asked for his help, for his wisdom, for his understanding of my purpose in this world.
I finally realised I can’t do this without him. I’ve tried that once before, and I failed miserably.
I sit and wonder what brought this on. Could it be physical? I haven’t felt well in weeks, my kidneys are aching again. I’m unable to sleep at night, so I have a hard time functioning during the day. The lack of sleep could be the problem.
Maybe it’s the jealousy? That’s right, I’m jealous of everyone and everything.
Jealous of people who own houses. Jealous of people who have money. Jealous of people who are funny. Jealous of people who have new cars. Jealous of people who are pregnant (what the HELL? I don’t want more kids! So…why?) Jealous of people who know how to decorate their houses. Jealous of people who are on vacation. Jealous of people who have pretty, white, straight teeth. Jealous of people who know how to dance. Jealous of people who live in NYC. Jealous of EVERYTHING THAT I DO NOT HAVE, CAN NOT DO, CAN NOT AFFORD, and so on and so forth.
Which is weird, because I’m not like that. I don’t LIKE people who are like that. I like to be happy for people! I like to celebrate people’s good fortune! But recently? When someone tells me good news? Instead of smiling and saying “that’s so AWESOME! I’m SO HAPPY! I flat out tell them… “I’M JEALOUS!”
How embarassing to admit this, but it’s the truth.
And what do they say about the truth?
It shall set you free.
A calm sleeper, she is not.
May your holiday be as Wild and Crazy as her hair.
To honor The Crazy, I will make sure I mention Tom in every post. (Tom is MAKING me do it)
Andrew is at an Angels (SUCK) game with his uncle.
Ethan is at the movie theatre with his dad.
I am at home all alone, finally able to rest after cleaning the house, whilst trying to keep Gabby from making more of a mess.
And? Trying to keep her from breaking and eating all of my cd’s.
I bet Tony thinks he is having more fun than I am.
HA! Nothing is more fun than trying to keep a snaggle toothed baby from eating my rather sucky collection of CD’s and having her YELL AT ME when I ask her nicely to “STOP PUTTING THOSE IN YOUR MOUTH, CHILD!”
Try not to be jealous because you’re wishing you were me right now instead of “out dancing” or “laughing it up whilst sipping on wine with friends” or “boinking” or “drinking down your vitamins with tom cruise.”
We can’t all live la vida loca like me. You know that.
Big Pimpin
My friend Mieke, who also happens to be a frequent visitor to this blog AND a big blabber mouth ,name droppin’ liberal (not that there’s anything WRONG with that), needs our help. Her client’s movie, THE PERFECT MAN, staring Hilary Duff, Heather Locklear, and Chris Noth, is opening on June 17th against Batman and they are going to get their asses kicked. It is really important that they have a strong opening weekend and week so please spread the word and get out and see it. You can even buy a ticket to see it and then slip into another movie playing in the Cineplex. (tom cruise totally made me say that.)
The movie is a sweet mother-daughter story.
The farts decieved me.
I often wonder what kind of a “girl” Gabby will be.
When I watch her play with her brothers, I’m convinced she’s going to be quite the Tom Boy, just like I was. She’s tough, she’s bossy and she’s very loud, which, in my opinion, all scream “TOMBOY!”
And this makes me very happy. Boys are what I know. Dirt. Rocks. Bloody knees. Poop jokes. Balls. These are the things I am familiar with, that I have come to know and love.
But yesterday, I discovered Gabby has an extremely “Girly” side.
She HATED the grass. She was like “What IS this itchy stuff touching my soft, delicate skin?”
She wanted so badly to crawl to where I was sitting, but she refused to put her hands on the ground and touch the grass.
“Stop that Gabby! It’s just grass! Stop being such a GIRL!” I begged of her.
I’m actually afraid of her turning out to be girly girl, because, I don’t know how to handle that crap!
She finally got the nerve to crawl to where I was sitting, but SHE HATED IT and spent the next 5 minutes trying to remove EVERY LITTLE PIECE OF GRASS from her body.
It’s quite possible baby boys hate grass too and that I’m making her hatred of grass into something it isn’t, but the way she whined and the faces she made had “I’m a princess who doesn’t like to get dirty because she’s too pretty to get dirty”
AND I CAN’T DEAL WITH A PRINCESS IN MY HOUSE.
Her farting skills had led me to believe she was going to be The Ultimate Tomby, but underneath all of that explosive gas, I do believe there is a Prissy Girly Girl waiting to be set free.
And where there is love? There is CHEESE.
I’m in my room folding clothes and my husband is in the bathroom giving Gabby a bath.
He’s singing to her. Halfway through the song she starts squealing, splashing and laughing. He stops singing and says, “I love you so much little girl. You’re SO CUTE.”
He starts singing again and she begins to hum along with him.
It’s moments like this that I’ll cherish for the rest of my life. The little moments, the ones that I so often don’t pay attention to. The ones that I need to start paying more attention to.
For it is in moments like this that I realize, it doesn’t matter that I didn’t go to college. It doesn’t matter that I don’t have a fancy house, or drive a new car. It doesn’t matter that I’m not a size 5 anymore.
I have this amazing family. And we all love each other so much.
No matter what. There’s always love in this house.
Always.
That’s what matters.
(p.s. why didn’t someone warn me that having a baby girl would turn me into a pile of mush who cried all of the time about every little thing?!)
Squirt THIS
Just got back from lunch with a friend.
A friend who used to be my neighbor, but who did something really selfish, and moved away from me.
How dare her!
We decided to go to Rainforest Cafe so the babies would be somewhat entertained. After looking over the menu, we decided we both wanted the fried BUFFALO chicken salad.
It’s extremely important to me that you understand it said “BUFFALO chicken.” It didn’t not say “plain ol’ chicken strips with squirts of buffalo sauce.” It did not say “Straight up chicken strips.” It said BUFFALO chicken.
Ok.
I have to admit, I was totally excited about this salad. I had high expetations for how awesome it was going to be. Do you have any idea how GREAT buffalo sauce and blue cheese dressing are together? DO YOU?
The waitress sets our plates down.
I noticed something was terribly wrong, but before I got chance to say anything, Trish holds the “buffalo” chicken up and proclaims “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!?”
Ah! It was a total SQUISH THE FOAM moment.
It wasn’t buffalo chicken, my friends. Oh no.
It was a FREAKING CHICKEN STRIP WITH A SQUIRT O’BUFFALO SAUCE.
Trish was all “Am I supposed to spread the sauce with a basting brush?”
And I was all “Seriously. THE MENU DOESN’T SAY A SQUIRT OF SAUCE. It says buffalo chicken!”
Don’t be squirting a little sauce on a chicken strip and calling it “buffalo chicken”. Latina’s get PISSED when you do that.
That was over an hour ago and as you can clearly see, I’m still pissed about it.
I TAKE MY FOOD SERIOUSLY. Not that you’d know that by looking at me, or anything.
It’s not even punny
I remember the first time a woman referred to her period as “Aunt Flow.”
“I got a visit from aunt flow today.”
“You have an aunt named flo?”
“No. ‘Aunt FLOW?‘? *wink wink* You know… Aunt F-L-O-W.?”
GET IT?!
Ohhhhh. Aunt FLOW. YOUR PERIOD! I get it now! HAHAHAHHA.
That was at least 10 years ago.
Did you know people still say that? And they still think it’s funny?
Guess who aint who laughing anymore? Aunt “rhymes with HI”. (Get it, “Hi” rhymes with “Y”?!)
See, that wasn’t funny either.
So, please, for the love of me, STOP REFERRING TO YOUR PERIODS AS AUNT FLOW.
If you don’t, I’m going to start referring to my vagina as Aunt Tuna.
Pigtailed Cheese
Today I put pigtails in Gabby’s hair.
That may not be a big deal to anyone else, but to me? It was a HUGE deal.
As a young girl, I would dream of what it would be like to do my future daughter’s hair. I loved braiding hair and became quite good at it. I used to tell people “My daughter will have the most beautiful hair all of the time!”
Then, I had 2 boys. People would ask us if we were going to try for a girl. In the back of my mind, I’d think maybe, but I’d always respond with “No! We are done having kids. Besides, I don’t want t girl! They’re too much trouble. The years went by and we decided we didn’t want anymore children.
Two was MORE than enough.
Little did I know that one night, the rhythm method that I had relied on and trusted for so many years would fail us and we’d end up with the little girl I never thought I’d have.
And today, my husband held that little girl in his arms as I parted and twisted her hair. As soon as I put the first rubberband on, I felt the tears filling my eyes.
“I feel so dumb, but I’m TOTALLY CRYING!” I said to my husband.
“It’s ok. She’s your girl, she’s beautiful.”
I just stood there crying and laughing and saying “OH my GOD, she’s precious! LOOK AT HER PIGTAILS! MY DAUGHTER HAS PIGTAILS!”
Maybe that makes me a “little psycho”. A little “too emotional”, a little “too cheesy.”
But it also makes me a mother who is very much in love with the daughter she never thought she’d have and how those silly little pigtails reminded this woman of her childhood dreams of a little girl with pigtails, and how that dream came true when she least expected it.
Quit playing games with my heart
The Backstreet Boys are back?! And not ONE OF YOU mutha’s bothered to tell me?
Thank God for Best Week Ever, for without it, I’d still be in the dark.
And all this time I thought you cared about me.