Shock Me!

So here I am a Paleastra again for the third time this week. Gymnastics is on Wednesday afternoons so immediately after gymnastics I rush home, feed the kids and head out the door with Dan for Date Night (actually we only go out every few weeks now, but tonight is a date night).

I am sitting here amongst all the other gymnastics moms. They are all haggered and tired and messy looking. I am showered and fresh and pretty. I am wearing a super feminine, chocolate brown dress wtih little white dots. It has a broad open chest and flatters my smooth, sumptuous chest. I am wearing coral red high heeled shoes with gold weaved into the red fabric. They wrap around the ankle and accentuate the taper of my long legs. I feel pretty and super feminine. I am getting a lot of caddy looks from the other mothers...and a lot of admiring side glances from the fathers. I don't care. I feel good and that's all that matters.

I don't always look this nice but I do try to look nice most of the time...it makes me feel good. I think everyone should make more of an effort to look nice...it really doesnt take much more time to look nice than to look grungy. Instead of throwing on a dingy t-shirt and worn sweat pants throw on a cute top and stylish jeans. That's it. I don't have time to look good is bullshit. A good friend of mine (who happens to be the least vain person on earth) once said, "A little vanity goes a long way". I agree.

Anyways. I as you know I am going through something of a personal crisis...aging. I'm sure I have at least 5 good years left...maybe 10 if I take care of myself. The last 10 years flew by. I mean REALLY FLEW! So I have decided that I am going to really, consciously appreciate my beauty while it lasts. I am not going to take for granted my taught, smooth, natural glowing skin and my firm, lean womanly body.

So this past weekend, being Memorial Day Weekend, we attended a few cookouts and hosted one ourselves. We ate a lot and drank even more...margaritas were practically being pumped into our veins intraveniously.

As does often happen when people drink a lot, conversations turned to the frisky side. Its all good and fun...harmless and then we all go home horny and have awesome sex with our spouses.

Anyways, one of our friends introduced me to a new acronym.

MILF.

Ever heard of it?

M-I-L-F...stands for "Mother Id Like to F".

Our friend told me I was a MILF!

I laughed so hard!

Thanks Jake. It's just what my aging ego needed.

I love it when people say shocking things to me. I like to give people a mild shock now and again...it's a little hobby of mine. But it is rare that anyone ever shocks me back.

Go ahead. Shock me...I dare U.

Aging Beauty

I have always felt too young. It seemed like I always wanted to be older...At age 4 I wanted to be old enough to play outside unsupervised. At age 10 I wanted to be old enough to go to the movies withouth an adult. At age 13 I wanted to be old enough to drive. At age 16 I wanted to be old enough to get into an R rated movie...and then, of course, at age 18 I wanted to be old enough to drink alcohol...

Lately, however, I have found myself wanting just the opposite. I have been longing for my younger, carefree, responsibility-free days to return. It doesn't help, either, that there are more and more white hairs popping out of my head (hairs that I diligently search for every day and pluck out with intense contempt). And then there are those shocking moments of realisation...when suddenly I am slapped in the face with the number of years that have passed since I graduated from college...or the harshness of having been alive when people still played records...or when I call a DVD a Tape... or, the worst insult of all, being called Mam'.

I am beginning to feel old...and I'm not sure how I feel about it.

Someone once told me that it is dificult for a beautiful woman to grow old. I am not going to fake modesty and deny being attractive. I have always been noted for my appearance. It has become one of the ways I see myself...and I enjoy it. But growing old is tedious. It takes so much more work to look good now. The taughtness of my althetic build needs a little help now to maintain its shape and my diet has become very green.

So I've been in a bit of a panick lately. My gorgeous, sexy, head-turning days are numbered. I find myself wondering if I've still "got it"...if I can still make men trip over themselves to gain my attention and favor. I haven't practiced this skill in many years, so I'm not sure if I'm still able. And then, I feel disgusted with myself that I am thinking this thought. I'm a married woman. I love my husband. I know he thinks I am the most gorgeous ad sexy woman on Earth...why isn't that more reassuring to me. I hate that lately I've been basing so much of my self-worth on my appearance. I was never one to obsess about my appearance...but I think that's because my good looks always came naturally and effortlessly.

Anyways. I know that there is more to me than just my looks. I know I am intelligent and talented and nice...those are the things that I spent my youthful years developing. I didn't think too much about being gorgeous...I took it for granted. Now that they are dwindling I am not taking them for grated.

I am an aging beauty. Like it or Lump it.

It is noon time here in Miami.

I am just rolling out of bed.

I actually woke up at 9:15 this morning. I guess my body is just conditioned to wake up early. My boys have always been early risers. They used to wake up at 5:00 every morning. Last year something miraculous happend in the Dominican...they started sleeping in. Now they sleep until at least 6:00 - usually 6:30/7:00 is there waking time.

Anyways. I woke up with a HUGE hangover. Debbie and I went to a couple of clubs last night.

First we went to the Clevelander. It is the club that all the MTV Spring Break specials take place. It is an outdoor club that wraps around a pool. There was a rocking band there and from the street we could see that the place was packed. So we decided this was a good place to start. There was a bit of a line to get in...no problem for the Kativating Kim sisters. We simply winked at the bouncer and shimmied our way into the club.

We got ourselves a couple of drinks and started to circulate...see what the crowd was like...check out the scene. There was nothing to see. The crowd was totally lame. Nobody was dancing and everybody seemed like nerdy tourists (I know...I am a tourist...but I am super kewl;) So we found a spot with a small shelf table and hung out to finish our drinks. It just happened that also hanging out in this spot were 2 other girls that looked exactly opposite of my sister and me. They were platinum blond, gant blue eyed, bomb shells from Germany. I wondered what this table must have loked like to an outsider...probably pretty interesting. I wish I had my camera.

When we finished our drinks we decided to move on. We wanted to go someplace where we could dance like crazy...with hot latino guys.

We went to Mango...touristy salsa club.

It Was A BLAST!! It too was full of tourists but the crowd was energized and fun...full of cheesy, horny men trying to rub themselves against all the girls as they "merenged" and "salsa" danced...but nonetheless fun.

The first 3 guys I danced with offended me so deeply I almost left the club. Now, I know that merenge and salsa are very sensual, provocative dances...but there is a difference between dancing sensually and rubbing your stiffy against a girl's body. Let's just say these first 3 guys were NOT dancing. I was so upset. I wondered if I had "Rub Your Hard-on Against Me" emblazoned on my forehead or something.

My sister assured me I did not...I had another drink and the next dance was more my pace. He was an Argentinian boy from DC. I don't remember his name...just that he was well mannered and wore a crisp white blouse. He was there with a bunch of other Argentinian boys. They were all cute...not hot...just cute boys. I say boys because they were all in their mid 20s. I felt like such an older woman. Not sure how I felt about being an older woman...but I had enough alcohol in my system at the moment to not care too much. I guess I basked a little in my older woman-ness. I felt strangly knowledgeable...mysterious and sensual.

Anyways. I asked them how old they thought I was. They all thought I too was in my mid 20s. I did not tell them my age - just that I was older than them. They guess 25...23...older?...26?...28...I told them, "It doesn't mater my age, I am just older and wiser than you". They could not fathom that I was in my 30s. I think at that age when you hear 30 something you think grey hair and wrinkles...not pretty face and hot bod.

So we spent the rest of the night dancing at Mango. By the end of the night my feet were killing me and I was too drunk to dance right anymore. So I decided we better head back.

As I lay drunk in my spinning bed I thought about my hunky guy and my adorable boys...I missed them as I fell asleep without them.

Sharing a Room

Well. Here I am in South Beach, Miami with my sister. We are having a sisterly, girl's weekend. We are staying at a stylish little boutique hotel on Collins Avenue (one of the hot locals in SB). We got a penthouse townhouse suite complete with 2 very cool bathrooms, a kitchenette, a living room with leather couch, 2 TVs, kick-ass stereo stystem, spiral staircase AND the best part....Private Roof Deck with Hot Tub! It is a very cool place.

There is only one king size bed...so my sister and I will sleep together. Thats fine. When we were kids we always wanted to sleep in the same bed but my parents would yell at us when they discovered us cozied up together.

Anyways. I've been here for all of 2 hours and it is already like girlie hell exploded in this room. I LOVE it! My sister and I are girlie girls to the max. We love fine designer things - clothes, handbags, shoes, sunglasses, shoes, handbags, bathing suits, make-up...and of course, shoes and handbags!

It is weird to be without my guys. I'm surprised by how much I already miss my hubby. He is so awesome...I love him so much. I guess distance makes the heart grow fonder. I haven't missed him like this since college...my heart yearns for him...yearns to snuggle up in his beefy arms and chest...and inhale his comforting scent.

Anyways. It is blistering hot here in Miami...but I'm a sun goddess.

Will keep you all posted as the weekend progresses...

The Wedding

It was the sweetest, most sincere wedding I have ever been to - the marriage of Jorge (a young man that works for my husband) and Johanna.

The ceremony took place in Quincy, in a gazebo overlooking the bay. It would have been a lovely spot had it not been freezing cold outside. There was no heat in the tent...and no light either - Just a little bit of natural light, from the stormy day outside, struggling to break through the hazey mist gathering on the the plastic that didn't shield the guests from the elements. The wind blew furiously, slapping the plastic loudly to and fro as the rain came down sideways, finding its way easily into the tent.

Nonetheless the groom showed up on time, wearing his wedding best - a white tuxedo and white sneakers. He paced at the alter, among the obviously fake flowers, and nervously chomped on a piece of gum.

I stood shivering near the back of the tent, amuzed by the spectacular frenzy of guests arriving in a cacophony of brightly colored attire and authentic faux jewels. Everyone was running in from the rain...trying in vain to stay dry. A darling little hispanic girl dressed provacatively in a purple, off-the-shoulder dress and long white gloves came running into the gazebo. When she got under the tent, she put on her brakes and immediately wiped out, sliding under the last few rows of plastic chairs.

Now a procession of flower girls and bridesmaids came barreling in. All were draped in garbage bags and wore shower caps on their heads. They were still soaked. They spoke breathlessly and violently in spanish.

The bridal party has arrived so we are ready to begin the ceremony. But someone forgot to bring the music. The priest asks the guests to sing "Here Comes the Bride".

As the guests begin singing in a thick chorus of spanish accents, the bride is escorted into the gazebo. She is wearing a fluffy white dress that is now spotted with rain and her veil is clinging wetly against her bare back. Her tiara glitters as she steps tentatively into the gazebo. She shivers as a drop of water rolls from her chin onto her bosom. She is clutching a bouquet of white and pink fake flowers and looking searchingly toward the front. A broad, white smile sweeps across her face and lights her up. She has found her groom.

As the bride makes her way down the aisle, the bridal party gets situated at the front of the tent. The brides maids are adorned in slinky, bright pink dresses out of which their buxom bosoms spill heavily. The maid of honor is wearing the same provocative dress but she is also sporting a thick, rhinestone choker collar necklace and glittering dangly earrings. She has a large tatoo emblazoned across her chest. I can't see exactly what it is. I am thinking, "Thank goodness we are not in a church!". The groom is standing tall, gleaming, mesmerized by his bride...still chomping away on his gum.

When the bride reaches the front, the priest asks everyone to rise. I notice a particular female guest seated near the front. She is wearing tight white pants through which one can effortlessly view the prominent indentation caused by her underwear digging into her flesh as the material struggles and strains heroically against the her bulbous buttocks. She is also wearing a black bomber jacket with a large furry hood but she isn't wearing the hood...she is wearing a clear plastic shower cap. It is an interesting and practical fashion statement. She sucks lustily on a big blue lollipop as she participates in the ceremony. She is among the most enthusiastic of the guests in providing the responsorial "Amen!". She is not afraid to let the bride and groom know she is there for them, "You go girl!" "Mmmm, Child, thas loov fo yas...". There are others in the audience also enthusiatically whooping and hollaring periodically throughout the ceremony but the enthusiasm reaches its peak when the bride and groom kiss for the first time as husband and wife.

By the time the ceremony is finished, the rain has let up enough for us to make it to our cars without getting completely drenched. The groom is still chowing on his gum as he leads his bride out of the gazebo.

The wedding reception is in another location. It is in Jamaica Plane. In order to get from Quincy to Jamaica Plane we have to drive through Roxbury and Dorchester (the projects). Jorge was good enough to give us very thorough directions to the reception hall - directions that would take us 15 minutes longer, but would take us through "the nicer parts of the hood". Despite the 3/4 page of typed directions, complete with number of lights, landmarks and a "house that looks dead", we get lost but Dan refuses to pull over for directions.

Eventually we get to the reception hall.

Upon entering the hall there is a sign-in table and a "wedding mailbox" to put cards into. Dan signs us in and I look around for the seating assignments. There appears to be no seating assignment so we stand around awkwardly.

The room is decorated with more fake flowers of white and pink. The tables are covered with white table clothes and the chairs are draped with white tulle scarves. The DJ is playing music with a latino beat. It is loud...very loud.

I am starving so I look around to see what there is to eat. There are no hor d-oeuvres floating around...there is no buffet table with cheese and crackers...I don't smell any food and the kitchen appears dark and still. I am wondering if we should have stopped at McDs on the way because I don't think I can wait until dinner.

We are totally out of our element. It feels like all the latinos are looking at us and all the inner-city folks are snarling at us. So I look around to see if there is a cocktail waitress...no cocktail waitress...no sign of a bar. I could really use a drink right now.

Someone comes along and finds out we are "Northcoast amigos". It turns out that there is no assigned seating but there are a few special tables reserved for very special guests...immediate family, and interestingly, Northcoast amigos.

We sit down at our table - table number 7. It is the second table from the head table and right on the dance floor. There are white and pink fake flowers on the table and plastic champagne glasses at each seat. I find comfort in these plastic champagne glasses as they indicate that there will, at the very least, be a glass of champagne...or maybe not...maybe they will toast with grape juice. I really hope it's champagne. I notice there is no silverware on the table. Now I am beginning to wonder if there is going to be any food at all. Still no scent of food on the horizon. The kitchen is still black. I am so hungry. I look in my clutch to see if I might have a package of saltines or peanuts. No dice...but I find some breath mints.

Eventually someone comes around and places a stack of plastic cups, a bottle of cheap champagne and a 2-litre bottle of Coca-Cola on each table.

Another Northcoast amigo shows up. He is Puerto Rican. He pulls a bottle of Petrone from his pocket...apparently he has been to one of these weddings before. He is now my best friend. It is a rather small bottle so now I am thinking maybe we should send someone to the package store for more alcohol...someone who knows this area. I tell Dan he should send Chenille (a Northcoast amigo...he's black, long dreadlocks, big white smile, seems to know his way around). I suggest that Dan give Chenille enough money to purchase cases and cases of beer and wine as a wedding gift from Northcoast to the bride and groom - he can write it off. He looks at me and asks me if I'm crazy...I think he means going back out into the rain...he means sending someone out with his money.

The hall is quite full of guests now - immigrants, latinos, inner-city folks and table number seven (the "Northcoast amigos" table - also referred to as the gringo table). Most of the ladies are dressed to the nines....cheap slinky dresses, gawdacious faux jewels, bright lipstick, plunging necklines, six inch heels. There is one woman in particular that catches my eye. She is wearing a leapord print swing coat. Under that coat she is wearing a black dress with large white polka dots and a lime green ribbon around her waste. She is carrying a bright pink satin purse and is wearing black platform, open-toed, high-heeled shoes. Her fingernails are like daggers, painted bright pink - the index finger has a sparkley rhinestone glued to the tip. Her toenails are also painted bright pink. I am so distracted by the assault of color, pattern and texture that I don't even notice what her face and hair look like. She is being escorted by a young black man wearing Pippi Long-stocking-like braids. He is sporting a cream colored vest and cream colored pants with white sneakers. He is wearing a pink dress shirt and a black tie...and the piece de resistance is his cream colored gentleman's hat (which he does not take off in the building as a gentleman should).

Finally a window near the back of the room slides open. Yes! It is a cash bar!!! Dan goes to the bar to get me a gin and tonic (I usually like Bombay and tonic) and to get himself a beer (he usually like Sam seasonal). He returns to the table with a plastic cup of gin and tonic and a bottle of beer. I take a sip of my drink and wince. I notice Dan's beer. It is Sam Octoberfest (it should be Sam Summer at this time of year).

My stomach is so empty that the alcohol goes straight to my senses and I immediatly feel deliciously relaxed. The gin, even though it tastes like crap, is doing a good job. The timing is perfect because now I can see that there will be food served after all and I am absolutly delirious with delight.

In the darkest corner of the reception hall I see ladies carrying in foil trays for the buffet table. They will call us up to the buffet by table number. I wait eagerly for our table to be called. When our table is called we head over to the buffet line. We each grab a styrofoam plate, a bundle of plastic utensils tied up with pink curling ribbon and a white paper napkin. The food looks like something you would find at a bad BBQ. The chicken and pork are dried like leather. There is something that has turned a sort of brownish, greyish color. I think it is some kind of banana dish with chunks of some sort of darker brownish greyish bits it. There are mashed potatoes - which actually look like mashed potatos...and a chopped salad of yellowish green lettuce, tomatos and cucumbers. Even though the food looked questionable I devour it. It actually tastes good and the mashed potatoes are to die for! It turns out the banana dish is actually some sort of a potato salad with chunks of turkey giblets in it. Ewe!!

People are finishing up their meals and moving onto the dance floor. They are playing a mixture of hip-hop and what Dan and I refer to as "vacation music". My friend with the Petrone grabs my hand and leads me onto the dance floor. He merenges with me while his wife gets her toes stepped on by my white boy.

Dan and I danced like crazy and drank tons of cheap alcohol for the rest of the night. Dan is not much of a dancer so I danced with anyone that was willing, whether they were able or not. I danced with cute guys, ugly guys, young guys, old guys, buff guys, fat guys...They all had two things in common. They all smelled heavily of cheap cologne and they all knew how to lead a girl on the dance floor. It was so much fun!

By the end of the night I was shit faced and exhausted. I was giddy from being twirled all over the dance floor by dozens of men and enchanted by the pure, unpretentious festivity of this special occassion.

I am humbled by this experience.

It was a wedding unlike any I had ever been. It left an indelible impression on my mind and deeply touched my heart. I have to say, it is quite possibly the best wedding I have ever been to. I am honored to have been there - at Jorge and Johanna's wedding.

I wish the lovely couple a lifetime of companionship and just 2 or 3 adorable children.

I HATE HER! I HATE HER!! I HATE HER!!!!!

I am sitting at the piano - which is an upright and against the wall in my living room near the sliding lgass door (but in real life I have a grand piano centered in the back half of the living room). I am trying to play but I my fingers won't work. I am so angry and frustrated because my father's (who in this dream looks like Harrison Ford, the young Harrison) girlfriend is here (she looks like a pretty young actress that I've seen in some movies but I don't know her name) and I want to make her feel small - make her see how good at the piano I am. I hate her I HATE HER!! I HATE HER!!!! I am fuming with rage. Dad is just on the other side of the sliding door with my siblings (who in this dream are Alex and Brandon) and her. He is grilling some burgers. I HATE HER!!! I am so enraged by her I start screaming and throwing an unbelieveable tantrum. I am so jealous of her. I am threatened by her. But in my dream my love for my father feels like being in love - not the kind of love one has for a father but for a boyfriend. I am banging the keys and banging them and making a terible racket btween my screaming and pounding but every once in a while I slow down and try to play something prettily again. Colin is standing by the piano with me. He is looking up at me dolefully with his big round eyes and he is sucking on a freeze pop, I think it was red. I think she gets scared off by me - she feesl bad that she is causing all this...so she leaves. Dad tries to get her to stay. I know she's coming back. Dad goes back to grilling and tries to ignore my fit. I want him to come to me and comfort me but he refuses to give in to me. He is not gettting mad he is just merrilly grilling. He is determined not to let me get under his skin and not to let me ruim this thing with her for him. I am still slamming the piano and occassional trying to play it but the keys get jammed up - like the way an old fashioned typewriter gets jammed up when you type too fast. The last 2 lower octaves are the keys that have jammed like a typewriter .and the white key pads on these particular keys are all worn and faded and some have fallen off. The rest of the keyboard still loks fresh but have gone askew so they are broken too. I feel so bad that I did this because he worked so hard to buy this for me...it cost a lot of money...and I waited a very long time to have a nice piano. I know she's coming back so I am still trying to ge my playing back together but I'm playing horribly. All the while A+B are on the deck with D and asking him why is she acting that way...why is she so angry...aren't you going to do something. She comes back. She is at the front door. I jump up from the piano and run to the door. I want to get there before him so I can make her leave. I want to beat the crap out of her. I HATE HER SO MUCH!!! I am furious she is here and Dad loves her....but dad is in the front hallway ahead of me. He is just about to reach the door so I start screaming at him how I hate him IHATE HIM and I HATE HER! He turns and says try not to be angry...I'll get used to her... there is nothing I can do about it. Try to understand. I am hurting his feelings but he is not getting angry - he understands. I scream through blinding tears why do you need her?! Why aren't I enough for you?! So then get out! Get out of here! And I push him forward toward the door that is wide open. The storn door is closed but the glass is not in it so I push him out the door, through the storn door and into her. He is resisting and I get some satisfaction in the fact that he didn't go willingly and that he seems to care even though he wont bend to my will to leave this girl. I am crying and screaming hysterically. I run up the stairs to my room and slam the door shut. I am screaming and crying hystericaly and I want my father to come up to me. I want her to leave. I want my dad all to myself. I am so filled with rage.

I don't remember how the dream jumped into this next phase and this section is very hazy - I don't recall a great deal but I think I am running away from home. I am in the woods. I am walking angrily, sulkingly, mopingly down a path. I can still feel my hurt and longing with such intensity. It is sunny out. It is not hot or cold. The trees seem a bit bare - like it is autumn but I don't think it is autumn - I feel like it is early summer. I am walking down a slight hill. I remember meeting someone along the way I once knew (I don't remember who). I get the feeling it was someone I didn't really want to see - or someone I didn't really like that much... I remember crossing a bridge over a trickling brook. I think I hung oiut on the bridge for a while - looking over it, contemplating what has happened. I decide to turn around and go back. I see that person off to the left...I don't want her to see me so I hurry along. I think I trip and she comes voer. We exchange some words...don't remember what but I think we walk a little bit together but I really just want to be left alone with my thoughts. Going back was up hill, a rather high hill...still dirt path through woods/trees.

That's all I remember and I think I woke up soon after.

Magnificent Visible Wings

When I was a little girl, I thought my mother was a mysterious, magical creature.

I was fascinated by her.

I was in absolute awe and wonderment of her. She was so beautiful.

She wore very little make-up and wore very simple clothing, yet people could not help but linger on her loveliness. She had this ethereal look to her. Large round eyes and a delicate, well-shaped nose mingled serenely among high, softly rounded cheekbones. She had flawless, porcelain skin that glowed from within and a soft, plush mouth that could heal all wounds mortal and mental. Her delicate frame seemed to float wherever she went.  And her voice…it was an amazing, soaring soprano that rang clear above all the other voices in song. She sang like an angel – an angel with magnificent invisible wings.

I was fiercely proud of her and wanted to be just like her. I would study her as she applied her make-up and try to learn her craft. I would consider her as she prepared meals and memorize her methods. I would examine her in a crowd and practice her mannerisms. She was everything womanly and wonderful to me.

As I grew older, I realized there was a lot more to her than meets the eyes. I realized that what made her so beautiful was more about who she was than what she looked like.  She was a quiet beacon radiating warmth, gentleness and compassion.  She was an unimposing vista, demanding nothing but inspiring and rejuvenating weary souls by just being there.  And, she was everything soft and peaceful that I wanted to be.  Even her voice was soft. In fact, I don’t ever remember her yelling. Her voice was a comforting, magical elixir for whatever ailed me. Sure, she would get upset with me. But she would never yell. Her voice simply didn’t make that sound. Her voice would take on this aggravated melody and I would feel disappointed with myself for having displeased her.  After all, she was the person who kept me safe. She was the person who healed my wounds. She was the person who loved me no matter what…and I was a naughty little girl. Even still, she always had a warm hug and a soft, plush kiss for me.

As I grew older still, I stopped admiring her.  I became self-absorbed. It was all about me. I needed to take lessons. I needed a ride someplace. I needed to have designer jeans.  My mother exhausted herself quietly to cater to my needs. She worked hard  for little money and slept little for a larger purpose.

Eventually I realized the magnitude and direction of her sacrifices.  They were all for me.  This made me feel guilty. I didn’t want to feel guilty. I just wanted to get what I “needed”. I was angry with her for making me feel guilty.  I accused her of being a masochistic martyr. I looked at her with contempt and treated her like a cockroach. Yet she still gave me warm hugs and soft, plush kisses.

When I entered womanhood, I stopped resenting her. I stopped thinking about her altogether. Life was still all about me…and I was free to pursue the business of me without her hanging over me. Smart and talented, I was arrogant in my self-confidence. In my eyes, she had grown quite small – she seemed so simple and meek. I would visit her from time to time…but mostly because I needed a place to crash…I needed to get my laundry done…I needed gas money. I shamelessly used her. But she was always glad to see me and always eager to feed me and she always had a warm hug and a soft, plush kiss for me.

The day I became a mother, my mother re-entered the godly realm. I was inexperienced and terrified by my new responsibilities. She was so wise and strong…she seemed omniscient and omnipotent. She showed me how to care for my newborn boy. She cradled him casually and lovingly in her arms, unfazed by his endless crying…and with some mysterious maternal power she was always able to stop his crying. She was somehow magically able to juggle all the demands of this tiny boy and never miss a beat…and never cave in. I felt like I was going to crumble.

Once my confidence and experience in motherhood grew, my mother’s heavenly status returned to earth and frustration settled in.  I was so exhausted and overwhelmed.  I was physically undernourished and spiritually depleted.  She came to me as much as she could and helped me in many ways but the mostly she resuscitated me with warm hugs and soft, plush kisses.

So, Mother’s Day is upon us and I find myself thinking - What is motherhood really? Cleaning up after the children?...keeping them clothed and clean, fed and healthy?…helping them when they need it?  Anyone can do that. You can pay someone to do that.

What I know of motherhood I learned from my mother. She showed me that Motherhood is the art of generosity – unconditional and without expectation. Motherhood is a life of acceptance without resentment. Motherhood is a way of loving without conditions. Motherhood is humanity at its purest. Motherhood is patiently waiting…and always being available…always available with a warm hug and a soft, plush kiss.

On this Mother’s Day I am a responsible, loving mother. But I am also a little girl…I have, all this time, always been a little girl…the little girl of a beautiful mother with magnificent visible wings.

The Tease

I hate making beds. Why should I make these beds. They’re just going to get messed up again in a few hours. I should just give up the boys’ naps – then at least the beds will stay neat for the day…but I do love taking a nap when they do.

Hggggh. I could really use a nap right now. I don’t think I can wait until noon.

Gawd. Why am I always so tired. These kids are going to be the death of me. Running around all day cleaning up after them is so exhausting…and seems so pointless when they just tear everything apart again in second.

Is this bed laughing at me?

You’re teasing me, aren’t you?!

“I look comfy, don’t I? Oooh, I’m so cozy and warm. Big, fluffy down comforteeerrs…piles of big plush pillooows."

Damn you! You are evil!

“Crisp clean sheets. I smell really good.”

Stop looking at me.

“Aw, Come on. Just try me. You won’t regret it. Look how big I am . You can stretch out and rest your weary bones. Don’t you want to snuggle up with me?”

Ok. You asked for it! Here I come!

“Ugh! Damn you’re heavy! And you smell! Go take a shower!”

Desperation

Go on back to the locker room and take off your shoes and socks. I’m gonna sit here so I can watch you.

Should I go to the locker room with him? No, he can handle it himself.

All set?

Good boy.

Class is about to start.

Hug and a kiss?

Have fun!

They’re so cute. I wish I had that much energy. Gawd, he is so strong! He’s the best one in the class…

Why do I torture myself by looking at these magazines. I’m bored, that’s why. This is boring – sitting here…waiting…watching…always watching. I’m a terrible mother. I should be completely captivated and interested in watching every movement he makes. I’m an embarrassment to motherhood. Look at those mothers sitting over there. They’re all watching their kids. They probably think I’m an uncaring mother…superficial – looking at my magazine instead of watching my kid. The “good mommy group”. They are so self-righteous. Jeesh. I would rather look at my silly magazine than join in on their baby talk and childbirth stories anyways.

I feel bad for that guy…having to listen to them talk about placentas and vaginal tears…don’t they have any modesty.

Yeah – I feel for you big guy. It’s gross. You should move over here and talk to me. I won’t bore you with baby talk and childbirth. Been there…done that...movin' on. I’m interesting, you know. I don’t know anything about sports…but I’m good for some harmless flirting…

Oooh. That’s a pretty dress…I’d never look like that in it…but I could wear those shoes…

Did you say you had botox injections? I’ve been thinking about doing that. Did it hurt?

Ugh…I make myself sick. I am so desperate to be included in someone’s conversation…I’m not even remotely thinking about having botox injections.

Just a little headache for few days? I could probably deal with that. Maybe next time you see me I’ll look as great as you.

Jeesh. Shut up already. You are such an ass-kisser! She doesn’t look thaaat great. Gawd, you make me sick. You are so desperate!

Oh, now these ladies are having an interesting conversation.

Ooh, ooh. I’ve been to the Dominican. I know a great place you can stay…

Jeesh. Mind your own business.

Yeah baby!…tropical drinks poolside…

Gawd…Mind your own business.

Excuse me. Did you say you’re thinking of going to the Dominican?

We go there every winter. It’s so great. Perfect temperature…gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous. Did you pick a resort yet?

Darn. She already booked.

Whatever. I didn’t want to talk to you anyways. Hmmm. This is a cute outfit.

Did she say Cedardale? I belong to that club!

Darn, I don’t play tennis.

Gawd! Stop it already! Mind your own business. Geesh. You are so desperate. You’ll talk to just about anyone won’t you!

Yeah. It is a cute outfit, isn’t it.

Come on now, I wish whe I was pregnant I looked as great as you do! I was always so huge. Don’t worry. You’ll be back in shape in no time.

Yeah it’s not easy being…

Is That you Diane?

I am in a restaurant. It is a nice restaurant, modest and conservative in decor - it is not at all in the league of the upscale, fashionable restaurants that I prefer. The menu is very basic. It's good basic american food - like Joe's American Bar and Grill. I am there with Colin. Just COlin. We are geting a bite to eat - I think it's lunch time. THe restaurant is a little dark - like pub style. We are seated in a corner booth. There is a large trunk?? behind our booth - it is wooden...heavily varnished, golden colored...oak? Colin is climbing all over it and all long the corner shaped bench. I order us some drinks. I order orange juice for COlin. I order milk for myself (I never order milk - I always order a ginger ale or a glass of wine in the evening). When the waitress comes back there is no table. There is a ramp of wood going down from the top of the corner of the bench to the floor - it surprises me that COlin isn't clinbing it. I don't want to be troublesome for the waitress so I say we can just use this as a table. I put the wood up horizontally in the coprner of our table and pull up a chair. She sets our drinks on it.

I see someone I once knew talking flirtatiously with the bartender and the fellow at the bar. I think it's her. She is working here. She is the hostess. SHe looks happy and cocky. She is not that way in real life. In real life she was very sweet and naieve and beautiful - really beautiful. But she was stupid - particularly stupidly naieve. She was a secretary at the firm I worked in before I had Alex. For some reason she latched onto me. I was always embarressed to be seen with her because she was slightly cheesy (she was a Medfor - pronounced by townies "Mh-Fah") and a secretary - I was a rising star - the youngest analyst on the block and I had CEOs making multi-biollion dollare decision based on what I said. Diane looked up to me - she emulated me in every way...particularly the way I dressed - but she was townie so she never quite got it right...she hung on my every word and advice. And I treated her shamefully. I took advantage of her naievity and her absolute adoration of me and toyed with her mind...made her doubt herself and made her feel her small-towness just for my own pleasure. She never knew I did this on purpose. She always thought it was all her. Anyways. I'm not sure it's her...she seemes so cocky...and thin...she's still so thin. She must have kids by now. She is wearing a black wrap dress. Her hair is long and dark (in real life she had long, curly, fiery red hair that after she got married she chopped it all off and wore it super short and let it go back to it';s natural dark brown color) , curls, parted off lightly off center. I think she glanced at me for a millisecond. When she walks near me I jump up from my seat and run over to her. As I'm jumping up, I think that I shouldn't be jumping up and leaving COlin alone at the table...he;ll be fine. I hope he's good. I'l just right here. It's fine. I grab her arm and say, Diane. She stops and says, Hi. Then she sees me and for a second I think she isn't Diane - I made an idiot of myself. I say, oh, sorry, as I let go of her arm...are you Diane...no you're not DIane, are you? Is that you Diane? Diane Privatera? She hesitates as if realizing she can back out of this if she wants...but she says Ya, I'm Diane. How are you EIleen? I said, fine, I'm eating here with my son. I can see in her eyes that she thinks - oh, EIleen eats here, I'm doing well to be working here...but I am thinking, I don't usually eat here...it is below me...but I do eat in these types of places when I'm with my kids. We chat a bit. I ask her where she's living now because this restaurant is in Andoiver...and last I knew she lived in Mansfield - an hour and a half away from here. She said where she lived - I don't know if she still lived in Mansfield or if she now lived closer. I asked her if she was still wtih Darren. She said yes - but I got the feeling he was only there in body - they were not spiritually together anymore...she was just using him for security. At this she mentions she knows Diane Brita - as if she is using it as psychological ammo. I say oh. and I wonder if Diane B told her about our misconducts in high school...and also about the scandoulous rumor (and they were just rumour not truths at all - I don't know why but in HS people watched me all the time. Girls were jealous and threatened by me and I think guys were secretly lustful of me...anyways, people made up all sorts of ridiculous, nasty rumour about me that if they took a moment to think about they would have realised the absolute impossibility and ridiculousness of the rumours...but people believe what they want to believe). Anyways, She looks like she knows something. She also says she knows Kim Miller and Angela Gardener. These three girls are a small group of slightly rebellious girls that were true friends to me in high school. I was not a rebel but being one of a very few non-white people, I was slightly outcasted - always on the ouside of the inside cirlce, never quite being truly accepted. Anyways, I haven't spoken to these girls since high school. Diane is called away...she's on duty...she feels important and struts away arrogantly. I go back to my table. The food has arrived. Now there is a table. A big woddon table. It is round, dark wood, like in a pub. When the waitress comes back with our order Colin's drink is gone. She cleared it away at some point but it was still full. I ask the waitress what happened to Colin's drink. She looks at my milk. I tell her this isn't his drink. She says our waitress didn't put it out with our food so now she has to go back to get it (annoyed). I realize at this point this is not our waitress, just a server. I tell her that we already got the drink - that it disappeared. She said, our waitress must have cleared it away - she will tell her to bring another. She calls our waitress on her cell phone. I don't really recall what exactly the food was but it was pubby looking, lots of fries, the crinkly kind, fried looking food and I see lettuce, pickle, onions, pickle on the side like when you order a burger. I am eating my food. I am sitting in a chair, back to the "camera" and COlin is being good, walking around on the corner bench while he eats the food he is holding in his fist. I am talking to someone now. I don't know who. I think in my dream I knew this person...but I can't remember who it was now. We are talking about Diane. I tell my "friend?" that Diane knows Diane Brito, Angela and Kim. We discuss how they could know each other. The other person says, did you hear her say she spent $1000 on 5 dresses?! I say, yeah, apparently she is trying to become an actress or a model. She is really into beauty pageants. And we talk about how ridiculous Diane is. Diane returns to my table to chat. She is cocky. She is acting like she is all that. I am still trying to figure out how/why she is here and how/why she knows my HS friends and what they told her about my days. I am nervous. I am casually eating everything in sight...I have just about finished my plate and look over to see Colin's plate is still quite full. There is a quarter of a steak left, french fries and a baked potato skin looking thing. I reach over and pull it near and start picking off of his plate as I finish my plate. I look over to see another plate of food with more french fries and some other foods. I pull it over and begin picking off of that as well. I finish my plate and finish the other plate and the waitress comes to clear away the dishes. I say to leave Colin's plate. And I chow on it - all the while Diane is talking and threateneing me with what she seems to know. She is stupid and talking about nothing important yet she THINKS she is so important and gorgeous and smart and successful. I am thinking yeah, you are still gorgeous, but you're personality has changed and it is ugly...and you are still stupid and you are still frivolous and being a hostess in a restauranty is not success.

This is about where I wake up.

Clothing Obsessed

Brandon is such a funny kid. There are so many quirky things about him. But he is particularly fond of clothing. Actually, he is clothing obsessed.

As you might recall he went through a peculiar phase this winter of wearing multiple layers of clothing at all time (see “Peeling Layers”). I’m glad to report that he has given up most of his layers…now he only wears 3 or 4 layers at a time. But he still remembers that I store clothes away in the attic. Whenever he sees the opportunity, he sneaks up to the attic and retrieves some more clothes. It doesn’t matter the size…he grabs clothes that are too big for him (stored away for his future use) and clothes that are too small for him (stored away for Colin’s future use). His drawers are overflowing with clothes and he continues to change his attire several times a day, but he has gotten significantly (although not perfectly) better at not turning all his clothes onto the floor (just his worn underwear, dirty socks and a few articles of clothing).

The other day Brandon noticed that Dan was wearing something different.

He asked Dan, “Daddy, is that a new shirt?”

Dan said, “No, I just haven’t worn it in a while.”

Brandon lowered his voice to secretive hush and said, “Did you get it from the attic?”

Party Time!!

Just so you know...I have been very disciplined in doing my 30 Minutes on the Machine. But some days my lists are just too boring to post.

Today I didn't really make a list but with summer quickly approaching I started thinking about our annual kid party. Every summer we throw a giant kid/family party for which we invite everyone we know that has kids. Last year summer got away from us and we didn'
t have a summer party but we had a kick-ass Halloween Party. The main events for the party were:

Spooky Bouncy House: We throw so many kid parties that we bought our own bouncy house. Best investment we ever made. I dressed the house up in ghostly attire and the kids bounced the night away.

Freakie Feelie Fun Hut: The activity in which you put common items in a bowl and the kids feel them - but they feel like freakie things - like peeled grapes for eye balls. I put the hut in a dark place and covered the table with white cobb webby stuff - I put a lamp in the middle opf the table with a black lightbulb so everything glowed eerily.

Monster Mania Dance Contest (in which I lit up the back yard with strobe lights...when all the kids got into a good dance groove and were properly mesmerized by the strobe lights I started tossing balloons down off the sundeck...as the balloons thinned out started throwing candy down. The first few pieces hit some kids - but when they figured out what they got hit with the candy frenzie began and noone cried)

Scavenger Hunt for candy and prized in the gully...I had each child bring a $5 toy and hid them in the swale. The swale is set apart from the main house so it is dark. Everyone had to bring a flashlight and search for the goodies.

Ended the night with Not too Spooky Fireside stories and marshmellow roasting

Other parties have included a Day at the Fair; Superhero Party (in which everyone dressed int heir favorite superhero costumes); Curious Creatures (where a guy came to our home and brought all kinds of creepy crawly critters including an aligator); Kiddie Boot Camp (just before school started)

This year I am thinking about ditching the kid party and having an awesome grown up party. I am going to send the kids off to grandmother and grandfather's house for a pajama party...and we grown-ups will have our own little PJ Party!! Everyone must come in their pajamas (or I will personally tear your clothes off and you will be left to party in you skivvies!!)

No feetie pajamas allowed! In fact, the man and woman with the most provacative attire will win a fabulous prize of some sort - maybe a night at some raunchy hotel;)

So, mark your calendars guys and gals...plan a trip to Massachusetts...and bring your PJs.

Date and Time yet to be determined.

The Boycott

Ugh! Didn’t I just do the laundry?

How can we possibly have so much laundry already?!

Well, at least Dan was nice enough to bring it down for me.

Dark, dark, light, dark, light…grey – I’ll set that aside, it can go both ways…

***

Better fold this stuff now while I have a few minutes.

Jeesh! How many pairs of underwear do these people go through in a week? I just can’t keep up. Why the hell am I even folding this stuff. Nobody sees it

I'm not folding it anymore. If you can’t see it, it ain’t gettin’ folded.

***

T-shirts. I should count how many t-shirts these guys have...and of course, they're all inside out.

Can’t they just turn their clothes right side out before putting them in the hamper? It would really make things so much easier for me. I mean, I’ve only asked them to do it a million times. Well, maybe the kids are a little young for that…but Dan should be able to do it.

Ugh.

Forget it.

I’m not turning all these shirts right side out. If he doesn’t care to turn them right side out, then he won’t care if I fold them inside out.

***

Towels. I don’t mind folding towels. They’re easy...and they look nice when they’re all stacked up, perfectly the same. But they take up so much space in the laundry…

Why do I have to wash them anyways. Aren’t they just drying off stuff that’s already clean?

***

I’m afraid to open this door………

Ugh! What the?!!…If they are just going to turn all their drawers out and leave the clothes all over the room, why do I even bother to fold them and put them away neatly. I've had it! I’m not folding their clothes anymore! I’m just going to wash them and throw them in the room.

***

Blaaaakie…where ya been hidin’ out boy? Who’s a good doggie? Yeees, you are. You’re such a good boy. Mommy loooves you. You’re the only one that doesn’t make dirty laundry for me. Yeaaah. That feels goood, huh?….

Jesus! What the heck have you been rolling in?!! You smell like shit!!

The Barn on Fellows Road

I am at the barn on Fellows Road. I feel good and strong and energetic and content with life. I don't remember why I was there that day..maybe I was there to do some work...I don't think I was there for a hack or a lesson...but I was in the process of leaving the barn. The barn is qiuet. I am going about my business - tidying up the joint before leaving - putting away pitch forks, sweeping up... At some point someone shows up...we chat and eventually find ourselves in the tack room. It looks as it really is in real life - It is dingy but tidy (because I just tidied it this morning - in real life...I go to the barn on Sunday mornings to feed the horses and do some chores). There is little light, just the little bit of natural light that fiters in through the crawl space window. We become passionate. It feels delicious. We are kissing passionatly, we are caressing and deliciously aware of each other and of each touch. We are a tangle of arms and legs and heavy breathing, hot kisses and tongues wetly tasting every inch of each other. We are like starving people who have discovered food. I hear the crunching of gravel outside the barn. Someone is coming. I think it is Lowell. I mustn't get caught. My lover leaves the barn discreetly - still buttoning his jeans. I see now that it is Andre. Andre is the one guy that rides at our barn. We are a chick barn - all girls and ladies. We call him the "crazy Russian" guy. The ladies at the barn don't care for him. They all think he is a manic and that he mistreats the horses and he is going to get himself and/or the horses into serious trouble one of these days. But I don't think he is so bad. I like him but can only take him in doses because he is very intense. He has a strong will and strong opinions..but maybe it's just that Russian accent that makes him seem so intense...I actually think he is a softy...Anyways...He rides like a maniac and is always a litle bit out of control. I am the only one that is willing to go out on the trail with him. I guess I don't mind him because I can see that he is earnest...he has good intentions...but he is also foreign so sometimes it takes a moment longer for him to get what you are saying (even though he is extremely intelligent and is very fluent with the English language)...or he misses something in translation and everyone gets annoyed at him and think he is being rude...foreigners have a way of seeming air-headed because of this and I am very aware and understanding of this because my parents were foreigners and I've dealt with such challenges my entire life. I guess I also like that he is so fearless and abandoned when he rides(even though it can be scary hacking with him if he wants to be naughty - i.e. take off at full speed). I am always in control. Even when I am galloping...I am in control. By the way, I have ABSOLUTLY not sexual interest in Andre. But he is a nice looking man. Anyways. I am re-composing myself in the the tack room. I still don't see whoever was crunching the gravel...I figure they must not need anything in the tack room and wish Andre had not gone away...I wish we just stayed stilll and quiet for the moment. But I am nervous about being caught...Now I hear people coming in and out of the barn - everyone was heading over to horse show. I am not going to the show (I don't particularly enjoy showing - those days are behind me...now I just do things for myself) Anyways. I am in the tack room. The light is on now - bright, flourescent lighting. I am now talking to some of the girls - the pre-teen girls that love talking to me...they love that I am grown up and wise in grown up ways but that I am "cool" - not an uptight, preachy mother type. Anyways...They are putting on their show clothes and gathering up their gear. I am eager for them to leave. I am talking casually with them about things they think are grown-up and helping them with their hair, etc like girls do...but really I am hastening them along because my lover said he would return when the barn settles down. I can hear more people outside the barn, puttting tack in the trailer and getting the horses onto the trailer. I walk around outside the barn, suddenly it is a large gravel parking lot (like at a horse show) and I see my "car"...it is Buddy. Buddy is the main schooling horse at the barn. He is the horse that makes everyone look good and that everyone trusts. He is steady and brave and trustworthy. I see his handsome, noble face and give him some love - snuggles and kisses...he loves it when I give him love. As I walk away I hear some voices of other show people...I turn to see the people near their own horse trailer, just next to Buddy - Buddy has the body of a brontasauraus?? (long neck, long body, long tail) but he has his own brown horse fur - he is a bay gelding . he is grazing on hay laziy and content. I walk back toward the barn and hope those poepole will disappear soon. I go back into the tack room and notice that there are 2 girls in the feed room (whcih is now a tack room too. The room is sunny and bright. The walls are bright yellow on the bottom and white on top...the feed room is actually, in real life, those colors but it is not sunny - it only has a very small crawl space window that the sun doesn't shine through because there is a bush in front of it.) One girl is sitting on a feed barrel pulling on her boots. The other is standing just behind her with her leg up and she is adjusting something. I go into the tack room, trying to act casual and hope they will leave soon. I am anxious for them to leave. I hope they don't know I am here and if they do I hope they don't want to chat with me. II fuddle around in the tack room, it is dim in there - just the littel bit of natural light filtering in through the crawl space window. I walk back over to the door to see if the girls are gone...to see if everyone is gone...I notice I am wearing my show clothes on top, black g-string panties and my riding boots...no pants. I even have my show gloves on. My hair is pulled back sleek and neatly in a low ponytail. I am surprised and wonder when I took my pants off and how long they have been off. I am going to put my pants on but decide to leave them off because my lover will be back...and I decide I look kind of sexy with mhy riding boots on. There is more waiting around, feeling anxious, being eager. I think he comes back at some point...but I think I willed him back because I think I realise I am dreaming.

End of dream.

Free Stuff

Dan has a fetish.

What is it?

The man loves...I mean LOVES free stuff.

Normally he is an easy-going, jovial guy. But when there is free stuff involved, his eyes blaze with lusty desire and he becomes ruthlessly driven and shameless greedy.

He will take anything if it is free...he will even pay for stuff if he gets something for free.

He has a subscription to Sports Illustrated that he bought for the "free" NFL Championship T-shirt and video tape. He never reads the magazine...as a matter of fact, as soon as it comes in the mail I throw it right into the trash so it doesn't take up my valuable kitchen counter space.

He also has a subscription to ESPN magazine that he doesn't read...I don't remember what he got for "free" but I'm sure it's crap.

Oh, and he has that subscription to Men's Health magazine which he subscribed to in order to get the free Sexual Tips manual. But, I found out today that he actually does read this magazine. Know how? Well, today when he came home from work I leaned toward him to give him a little kiss. We had a short, sweet, uncomplicated kiss...and then he did this funny little pat, pat, pat thing on my back. I laughed and was like, "What was with that pat, pat, pat thing?" He said, "I read in Men's Health that non-sexual kisses help lower blood pressure and anxiety. They say that getting kisses with expectations causes stress and anxiety." We both chuckled and went about our business still thinking about that. So anyways, he does read Men's Health.

Anyways...he also has this obnoxious collection of T-shirts. He must have about fifty t-shirts (and would have more if I didn't periodically throw a few out)...and about half of them are shirts that he got free from someplace or for something.

Whatever.

I don't really care too much if he wears free t-shirts and free baseball caps. But I hate it when he clutters our home with ugly, stupid free toys...and I especially hate it when he brings home free cups...of any sort - mugs, pilsners, glasses...I hate them all! They are ugly and tacky!! UGLY and TACKY Dan! I don't care if they are FREE.

I don't know why he loves to get free stuff so much. I guess it's the idea of getting something for nothing. He probably feels like he has to work so hard to get everything that when he gets stuff for free it's just really awesome. But...I really REALLY HATE FREE STUFF!!! They're always Ugly and Tacky!

Actually, I did get a little freebie of sorts today.

I was walking around the yard, surveying my gardens when I spied something shooting out of the ground beside my beloved weeping cherry tree. Went I stooped down to inspect the offending shoot I discovered it was a tiny little weeping cherry tree. My darling cherry had sprouted a little baby.

"Awe...Congratulations ol' girl."

Suddenly my eyes set ablaze with lusty desire and shameless greed. I reached down, wrapped my fist around it's tender little stalk and yanked it from the ground...roots, mulch and clumps of dirt. I carried it ruthlessly up into the courtyard and plunked it onto the ground. I was delirious with delight. I ran to get my shovel and grabbed a bag of soil. Like a woman possessed I dug a hole for "my pretty" and replanted it in the corner. "Wa hahhhaaaahaaa!!" I got a free tree today!!!

So, I guess there are some things that are nice to get for free...like free plants...free cars...free cable...free drinks...free sex...

Dan, if you want anymore free sex from me, don't bring home anymore free stuff!

But I'm Starving!

I think the boys are on another giant growth spurt. They have been eating NON-STOP for the past several days...and there's no end in sight.


Here is an account of what Alex, Brandon and Colin ate yesterday.

For breakfast they each had half a bagel with cream cheese. Alex and Brandon ate all but one or two bites. Colin took 3 bites and licked the cream cheese off. He gave the rest of his bagel to our dog, Blake. Upon finishing, the boys dispersed to get dressed and play while I cleared the breakfast mess and packed Alex's school bag.

About a half hour later Alex and Brandon ate an apple Toaster Struedel - all of it. Colin took two or three bites of his struedel and licked the frosting off. He gave the rest of the pastry to Blake. I told him not to give Blake his food. He cried. Apparently this was a hurtful thing for me to say to him. They dispersed to squeeze in a little play time while I cleared the struedel mess and ran upstairs to get dressed.

On the way to school they each ate a banana. Alex and Brand ate all of it. Colin ate two or three bites and squished the rest in his hand. The banana mess is still in the minivan.

After dropping Alex at school, Brandon, Colin and I went back to the house. Now Brandon wanted a slice of peanut butter toast. He ate all of it with a glass of milk. Colin wanted one too. I gave him a slice of peanut butter toast and decided this was a good time for me to finally pee. As I was leaving the dining room, I saw him licking the peanut butter off his toast. When I came back 2 minutes later the peanut butter toast was gone...all of it...every last crumb. So, I think he gave it to the dog. Colin was standing on his chair, in deep concentration. He was shaking his sippy cup upside down while simultaneoulsy pinching the nipple. He was watching the milk go split splat split splat onto the dining table. In the two minutes I was gone he had created a big runny lake of milk which was now streaming off the table onto my oriental rug. Fortunatly Blake was on hand to catch most of what dripped off the table.

The boys dispersed to play and I set about clearing the mess.

Later, Brandon made a special request for noodles with cheese. So I set about boiling pasta to make noodles drenched in butter and parmesan cheese. While the water was boiling Brandon also requested a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I told him I was making him the noodles that he specifically requested. He said he was going to eat both. I didn't believe him but I made him the sandwich anyways (I figured I could always feed the noodles for lunch or dinner). He ate the peanut butter and jelly sandwich including the crust. He left a couple strips of crust which Colin came along and gobbled up.

When the pasta was prepared I scooped three large spoonfuls onto two plates. Surprisingly, each devoured their entire plate. Brandon even had a second plate of which he ate all but a couple spoonfuls. Colin had two or three more pieces of pasta and "dropped" the rest on the floor. He looked up slyly and said, "Uh Oh." I told him, "I know you did that on purpose. Don't do it again." The boys dispersed to play while I cleaned up the mess.

A short while later they were rooting around, yet again, for another snack. So I offered them a bowl of strawberries. They shared this eagerly, dipping each succulent fruit into a bowl of sugar. They ate the entire bowl of strawberries..and licked up all the sugur too. They dispersed to play and I cleaned up the sugary, syrupy mess as I began to prepare myself psychologically for Alex's return home from school.

When Alex got home from kindergarten I offered him a plate of pasta. He said he wanted an egg salad sandwich...and a pickle. So I set about boiling eggs. In the meantime he ate the plate of pasta. When the sandwich was ready he ate half of it - no crust, plus a couple bites of the other half. He did not eat the pickle. He also ate two bowls of Cookie Crisp cereal. He drank all of the cereal milk plus had another full glass of milk. Brandon also had a bowl of Cookie Crisp but he didn't drink the milk and left a couple spoonfuls of cereal floating around. Colin came along and ate the rest of Brandon's cereal, the crust from Alex's sandwich and the pickle. They disperse to play while I set about cleaning up the lunchtime mess.

Moments later they were digging around the fridge for something more. Colin selected a yogurt cup. Brandon selected a piece of cheese which he cut into little strips (french fries) and Alex had a cup of apple sauce. They also had some pretzel rods which Colin dipped into his yogurt and Alex dipped into his apple sauce...Brandon played numchucks with his before chomping them down.

For the next 1 1/2 hours nobody ate anything but that was only because we all took a nap.

Upon waking Alex asked for a snack. I hadn't had my after-nap caffine yet so I said, "Yes. Whatever you want." He went to the pantry and retrieved a bag of fat-free oreo chips. Colin, upon spying the pantry door open, scurried over and grabbed himself a bag too. Brandon, who was downstairs, heard the ruffling of snack packaging and hussled up to get himself a goodie too. That and a cup of milk kept them happy and still for 5 minutes.

I drank my coffee and slowly woke up.

I brought them down to the playroom and turned on the tv before returning upstairs to clean up the post-nap snack. By the time I finished cleaning up the mess, they were properly mesmerized by the tube so I snuck outside for a butt. Upon returning, 5 minutes later, the boys came upstairs and wanted another snack.

I opened a bag of goldfish crackers and gave them each a juice box. This kept them happy for 5 minutes more. Brandon also wanted something sweet so he went into the freezer and grabbed a Hoodsie cup. He knew I would not approve so he immediatly put on a coy face and begged for it. I gave in. He also wanted sprinkles.

"Fine. Whatever."

Of course, now the other two wanted Hoodsies and sprinkles.

"Fine. Whatever."

This made them all very happy...down right giddy with cool, creamy delight.

Now there is drippy ice cream and colorful sprinkles all over the dining table.

The boys dispersed as I cleaned up the mess.

After cleaning up, I packed the respective bags for their afternoon pursuits - each bag included a snack and a drink. Brandon and Colin would go to Kids Club with Dan. I would take Alex to gymnastics.

On the way to gymnastics Alex ate a bag of Pirate Booty, nothing to drink. After gymnastics Alex had a juice box and a couple of pretzel rods in the car. We ran a few errands, one of which was picking up a few things at the grocery store. He asked for bananas and Rice Crispy Bars. I bought them for him. I also got myself a couple bottles of wine.

When we got home from gymnastics it was dinner time. I didn't feel like washing dirty pots and pans so I prepared Chef Salads for Dan and myself and Grilled Ham, Turkey and Swiss sandwiches for the boys. Alex ate 2/3 of his sandwich, no crust. Brandon ate 1/2 of his sandwich, including crust. Colin ate none of his sandwich - he slipped his under the table for the dog...but he ate Alex's crust. He also ate a bunch of grapes and the cheese and croutons from our salads. They all drank their milk and dispersed.

I set about cleaning up the dinner time mess.

By the time I had finished clearing and cleaning the table, washing and loading the dishes and reading the school mail, they were ready for another snack. They wanted something sweet. They wanted Rice Crispy Treats. Since they ate most of their dinner I conceded. Each had a whole Rice Crispy Treat and another glass of milk.

Now it was Colin's bedtime. He went to bed with a bottle of water. He was finished eating for the day and I wouldn't have to feed him again until about 4:00 am when he typically cries out for a bottle of milk.

One down, two to go...

When I came down from putting Colin to bed, Alex wanted another snack. He asked for an apple with peanut butter. I was pleased with his choice and said, "Good choice." He said, "Apples are good for loose teeth, right? How much do you think the Tooth Fairy will give me if I eat this whole apple?" Grrrr. "The same amount as if you didn't eat the whole apple."

Brandon didn't want anything. But a short while later I saw Brandon scurrying past me. He was trying to sneak another Rice Crispy Treat. I stopped him short and told him to put it back. He threw a tantrum - big wet tears and all. I told him he could have some fruit, cheese, yogurt or crackers. He didn't like those choices. He threw himself on the floor and rolled around, protesting loudly and wetly. I told him, "Why don't you just go to sleep right now. That way you won't think about Rice Crispy Treats anymore." He said, "But I'll dream about them." "Tough luck. Like it or lump it. Stop tantrumming or you're going to bed right now." He stopped his fit and chose cheese and crackers. He built a very tall tower with them and ate most of it before "spilling" them on the floor. Blake was there waiting, patiently to gobble up the morsels that fell from the table. Thank you Blake for clearing the mess. The boys dispersed to squish in a few more minutes of play before bedtime.

It is finally bedtime. I take Alex and Brandon upstairs to get ready for bed. They wash their faces and brush their teeth. They put on their jammies and we read a story. Upon finishing the story they ask for a snack. I say, "No. You just brushed your teeth and it is sleeping time, not eating time. You can have water."

They contest.

"But I'm starving. I haven't had anything to eat in forever!"

It Wasn't Rape

We were at the beach. Me and all my friends form high school. I think it was like after prom or something. We rented a house, all of us. I didn't see who was at the house with me but I knew who was there - it was Angela, Dianne, Serina, Rachel, Joe G.., Joe C and the whole NHS crowd. They had dumped their things and gone to the beach. I was inside the house and going to meet them in a momement. I know that last night, when we arrived at the house, we had a huge, HIUGE crazy party and we all got wasted and crashed. The house had that after party feeling...and I knew that there would be plenty more of those parties all week long. The house was right along the main strip so lots of people walking along the boardwalk would stop in to join the party...even though the house had a reputation.

From the outside the house was big and white, a well kept victorian house. Inside it seemed quite small anda little run down. Btu I thought it didn't seem too dirty. I was in the kitchen. It was cramped. Small and narrow and dark. There was a small window above the sink with a cafe curtain. Thin, dingy, white with red edging - like the kind you might buy at Walmart. It was still so I knew the window was closed. There was no sunshine coming in through the window, just a little, very little natural light from the daylight outside. The windows were old looking - ythe glass looked like it needed to be cleaned but even still they probably wouldn't be crystal clear. THere was a storage closet at the back of the small narrow kitchen, no door, I could see a broom and n ew there were other cleaning supplies in there. The floors in the klitchen were worn down, dingy vinyl, curling up at the edges. The walls were dingy off white paint. There was a dirty looking water purifier attached to the faucet. It was white plastic - but looked dingy and old and it had red stuff caked to it. I thought it was spagetti sauce. Someone was in the house with me. I can't see her but I know it is a girl. Ithink it might be Angela. She is just getting something before heading backt o the beach. I say This is a cute place/. She says yeah, it looks cute but there's blood everywhere. I think for a moment. I don't recall seeing any blood...it's a little dingy, old and dirty but no blood. I say this to her. She says, look at the faucet. I look and again I see the caked on spagetti sauce. I tell her I thought it was just spagetti sauce. She said it's not, it's blood. I look a little closer and see tyhat perhaps it is but I'm not sure. I suddenyl get a creepy feeling about the house and I want to get out onto the vbeach with my friends. I am looking for my stuff in the house. The house only has a couple of rooms. When you walk in you walk directly into the kitchen, Then there is a small living room...and that is all I ever see of the house but I know there isn't much more - maybe a dirty old b athroom someplace and a few bedrooms. The living room is next to the kitchen and the kitchen is visible from the living room through one of those window things cut out of an interior wall. But now that I think about it, the interior window is in the same spot as the exterior window above the sink. ANyways. I notice now that the couch is contemporary couch with camel back and rolled arms. It is the same couch I had in my newlywed days except my couch was deep purple and this one is dark blue. I also notice now that the rooms are decorated in Navy blue and white toile. There are pretty wiondow treatments - relaxed roman shaded in blue and white toile with blue fringe. The house still looks worn but it looks a little better with the treatments and furniture. There are clothes laid out in a line on the floor. I am looking for my stuff among all the belongings of all my freinds. Someone is in the room with me. I can't see who it is but it is a guy. I don't know this guy but he is a friend of a friend or a friend of a friend of a friend. So I try to relax and hurry to get myself ready to meet my friends on the beach. We talk casually about the house. He was telling me that the house had some bad things happen inside so its spirit is evil...and the people who come inside of it get possessed by it. I am creeped out. He is creeping me out. I decide to forget about the swimsuit and get onto the beach...even though I still have my gown on. It is a long, very long, heavy, elegant cream colored dress - silk taffeta. It is fitted and gathered all over. strapless. It has a trailing hemline. It looks like a wedding dress. I rush out onto the beach holding my dress up. The guy is following me casually - still talking. I tell him I'll see him later - I'm going to meet my friends on the beach. Suddenly he is on top of me. He is trying to rape me. I am on the ground, on the sand, on my back. He is on top of me - he is heavy, strong, unkempt. I am fighting him - kicking him and trying to free my hands. I realise he is trying to rape me. I am horrified and pissed. I think about trying harder to get free - but I know I am weaker than him simpoly because he is a man adn I am a woman and that I won't be able to free myself. I decide that Id on't want to be raped. I would rather just concede to this disgusting man than be a rape victim. So I settle down and let him have jis way with me. I feel him penetrate me and I worry that he will get me pregnant or worse. He isn't wearing a condom and he doesn't appear to have one...and neither do I. His rythmn gets faster and I know he is almost finished. I am thinking please pull out, please pull out...and he does. Thank god. (It is shocking to me, even in the dream as I realise in some capacity that I am dreaming that he actually penetrated me because I don't ever ever remeber actually being penetrated ina ny sex dream -usually something happens to interefere or I wake up) andyways. I get up and go back to the house. I tell myself it's no big deal - it's just sex. I didn't get raped...but inside I know, I really got raped and I am upset by it and I am trying not to think about it and not think I was raped and not be upset by it.

Now I see my friends coming back up the beach. Toward the house. I am thinking about what happened and htinking why they weren't there to help me or why I wan't on the beach with them I am thinking maybe I am a slut and I wanted this to happen ...then I think nothing happened. I did not get raped. I just ahad meaningless sex but I feel guilty and dirty for it. I wonder which is worse...I wonder if I should tell my friends what happened. I decide I shouldn't. They wouldn't understand. Noone would understand. I see Angela and Dianne a little further off. I am eager for their company. Even if they don't know what happened to me I will still find comfort in their company. There will be another big party tonight but first we will eat something in that divey house and get ready - make ourselves pretty and the guys will hang out in the living room drinking beer.

That's the dream...

Beautiful Knee High Boots

Today I was at the salon to have my hair done. Whenever I go to the salon I read People magazine. Today I read an article about Katy Holmes and Tom Cruise. The article questioned whether or not Katy was really pregnant.

Apparently some people think her bump looks fake - that it might be a prosthetic. I think this is a little ridiculous. I did question whether she was actually pregers in the beginning of her pregnancy, but as her bump grew my doubt disappeared. So anyways. One of the "reasons" the article cited as a reason to raise suspicion was that in the weeks preceeding the birth she was seen shopping for shoes - obsessively. They said that a woman that is 9 months pregnant does not think about shoes and is too tired and uncomfortable and her feet and ankles are too swollent to care about shoes.

Whoever wrote this is obviously not a woman...and has obviously never been pregnant. I think it is a pretty well-known fact that 99.99% of the female population has a shoe fetish...and just because one's body changes does not change the pleasure shoes bring to a lady.

As a matter of fact. When I was 9 months pregnant with my first child I too obsessed over shoes. I mean, the only thing that stilled looked human about me were my feet. So I obsessed over shoes. I couldn't fit into my cool, stylish outfits anymore...but I could still wear pretty shoes.

The ninth month of my pregnancy was December. It was the year that knee high boots came into high fashion. My super-stylish and super-thin sister had like 20 pairs of knee high boots in different styles...some were conservative for work...some were downright slutty for going out on the town. My sister and I both worked in the Financial District so we would hook up for lunch and shop. I would follow her around enviously watching her try on and buy all sorts of really cool outfits and really great shoes...especially knee high boots.

One afternoon she was buying yet another pair of knee high boots. This particular pair was slightly vampy with four inch heels. I said I wanted to buy a pair too. She told me a woman in her ninth month of pregnancy should not be wearing 4 inch heels. I told her I just wanted to look stylish again. She said I had a stylish coat.

I did love my coat. It was mid-thigh length with slightly bell shaped sleeves. It was sort of a faux fur looking gig - the kind that looks a bit like baby lambs wool - lumpy, bumpy and black. It was a very stylish coat.

So I decided, maybe she was right. I could wait another month to get the beautiful knee high boots.

But for the rest of the afternoon my mind kept drifting back to those boots. The novelty of my blossoming belly had long worn off. I was sick of being huge and round. I just wanted to be fashionable again...I wanted to feel pretty...I wanted to look cool...I wanted a pair of beautiful knee high boots!

5 o'clock came around and even though I was exhausted and achey, I was gettin me some boots! Filene's was just 11 blocks down the street. I would have to walk 5 blocks past my T station...but it would be worth it. I would have a pair of super cool, super sexy, super beautiful knee high boots!

I headed out into the streets.

December in Boston is COLD and WINDY! - Especially in the Financial District where the tall buildings create long tunnels of wind. Nonetheless, in my ninth month of pregnancy I was an inferno of heat. I had my own little space heater and it was on full blast. I staggered down those icy streets with my coat open wide, gloveless and hatless - hot and huffing with the exertion of walking. Every once in a while I would yelp in pain and my knees would buckle as a stab of pain tore down my thigh as my spastic nerve got pinched between my loose pregnant joints. Some people would jump back in horror. Some people would leap forward with great concern. Everyone thought I was going into labor. I wasn't. I was just miserably, horribly pregnant. Each slippery step caused me to clench my jaw and grimmace at the pain shooting up my back and across my pelvis. By this time of the day my belly felt so heavy it felt like it might touch the ground (which would be something of a relief because then the ground could take some of the weight off my back) and it felt as if my baby might fall out of me if I relaxed.

I didn't relax.

I couldn't relax.

I had to get those beautiful knee high boots.

When I finally reached the department store I felt very proud of myself. I had conquered mother nature's cruel metamorphasis to my body and further foiled her meteorlogical attempts to deter my lusty desire for those beautiful knee high boots.

I struggled up to the second floor where the shoe department was. I picked a pair of boots with a sensible heel and found a sales person to get my size. I sat down in a seat to wait for my beautiful knee high boots.

The chair felt quite snug for my girth, especially since I still had my coat on. But I was too tired to struggle through the task of taking it off...it was a really exhausting walk. Besides, I was in a bit of a rush - I was eager to get home to put my feet up and rest my back...and zonk out. I wanted to be on my way as soon as I tried these bad boys on and paid for them.

Before long the salesman returned a pair of beautiful knee high boots.

In order to reach my feet I had to sit with my legs straddled like a sumo wrestler and lean to one side. When I did this I squished my belly and my baby would kick me in protest. I said, "Shut up kid. Mommy needs some beautiful knee high boots."

I pulled my sneakers off and tugged the boots onto my feet. I began to pull up the zipper. It was a little snug but I was deteremined to get these puppies up. So I tugged harder. I used my other hand to squish in my calf - make it a little skinner so I could get the zipper up.

Whew.

It took me a while but I managed to get the zipper up. That was exhausting! I was covered in sweat and huffing from the work of it. Now to get the other boot on. I had to put the other boot on too or I wouldn't be able to see the whole beautiful picture. It too was a lot of work. But I did it. By God I Did It!!!

The beautiful knee high boots were zipped and on me!

I stood up, coat open wide, sweat dripping down my forehead, hair clinging to my face, smiling eagerly with anticipation. I couldn't wait to see me. I was going to be one hot and stylish pregnant woman in beautiful knee high boots.

I looked like a turkey.

The long black boots only magnified the disproportion of my body. They made my legs look like skinny black sticks and my belly look hugely giganticly enourmous. The sleeves of my "stylish" coat looked like wings and its "cool" lumpy bumpy texture looked grotesquely animalesque.

Disappointed and exhausted I plunked back down into the chair to take the boots off.

I straddled my legs, leaned to one side to in order to reach my feet and my baby kicked me hard. "It's not nice to say I told you so!" I said to my baby.

I tugged on the zipper.

It was stuck.

Uh oh.

Well. They went on so they will come off. I tugged and tugged and struggled and struggled but the zipper would not come down.

I could feel someone watching me so I looked up embarressedly and tried to smile in good humor. "Hmmm. The zipper appears to be stuck. I guess my legs are a little swollen." She was a nice older lady. She understood. She came over to try to help me. No dice. She said she would get someone with more muscle. She gave me a reassuring pat and a wink as she disappeared around the corner to find help. A short while later she returned with a salesman.

They were chuckling together as she explained the situation to him.

He was a young guy. Cute. He looked like a nice guy. He had his hand on his chin and his head bent slightly into her as he listened intently to her story.

When he arrived at my chair he smiled and said, "in a little jam, are ya?"

I was horrified. He was so cute...and I was so huge! and PATHETIC!

He leaned down and tried to pull the zipper down. No dice. He tugged harder. He pushed his hand into the boot and tried to squish my leg skinnier. Still no luck. Determined, he braced my foot against his thigh and pulled...and pulled and pulled. The boot did not budge. He decided to call for backup. He called over another salesman.

By now a small crowd of passersby had collected to watch this absurd spectacle - This turkey stuffed into a department store chair with a pair of beautiful knee high boots on her feet...and two men pulling on her legs with all their might.

The men eventually managed to pull the boots off my feet. The zipper had broken in the process. We were all perspiring profusely and out of breath but the beautiful knee high boots were freed from bondage.

I sat there for a moment to catch my breath.

The salesmen stood up and brushed themselves off.

One man set about putting the boots away.

The other one...the cute one asked, "Do ya want to try another pair?"