I think I’ve acquired wrinkles since I’ve last been on this site.
I don’t really know what has kept me away. Another lapse in creative spark. My sad little slut of Muse gone packing again. My mind a virtual mish-mash of uninteresting and pathetic loops forever destined to repeat, repeat, repeat.
At least I can say, for the most part, I haven’t been depressed. Yippy-friggin-yee!
But, tonight, an ordinary night albeit cloudy night, I am breaking the seal.
I only have a brief moment. I’ve started to really hit the books/computer hard as a National Board candidate. So, you may be seeing even less of me. (No, no, don’t cry. Please. Stop. I mean it.)
I still haven’t had time to complete my muffin top extravaganza. But, it’s coming.
Oh, yes, it is.
Instead, I’ve continued to be plagued by guilt about Silas and the whole hospital ordeal. It just seems like a really sick, ugly shame that I had this major family disconnect at the same time that Silas was so ill. Of course, it wasn’t intentional. But, you know, the whole road to hell and all that.
Still, and I don’t know if I can put what I was going through into words (or if I even want to put it into words), I’ve learned from that bitter lapse of familial bliss.
(If you’ve been reading you might be noting that “familial bliss” might be a poetic stretch of the imagination. But, still. You know what I mean.)
Anyhow, I don’t know if it was seeing my boy so sick or if it was my mom coming to relieve the stress or the fact that I’ve been regularly taking my medicine, but I’ve been through a major change.
I’ve been able to relax and enjoy!
And, with a two-year-old that’s just vital.
I’m not going to go into all the cute little things that I’ve watched Silas do lately. About how particular he is and how he throws his head back when he laughs. Honestly, all the wonderful is pretty much summed up in the picture. (Yes, I finally broke down and posted a cute picture of my son. Does that mean I’ve turned all warm and fuzzy? Still, can you even try to resist that smile?!?)
So, I guess the good part of fucking up– as long as no one was seriously hurt along the way– is– yes, I’m going to be totally cliche and am going to try to use at least one more set of hyphens– is– okay, I don’t really have anything to add but the hyphens– is that you can, indeed, learn from your mistakes.
I’m sure I’m not the first parent who was overdoing it at work, was feeling stressed at home, and who decided to put the blinders on in a desperate act of self-preservation.
The good thing is, I’ve re-prioritized.
So yeah, that’s why I haven’t been here. It’s not because I’m reading trash novels (well, I am) or because I’m watching trash T.V. (no, I’m really not– unless you count Thomas as trash) or because I haven’t a thing to say.
I haven’t been here because I’ve been playing with my boy. (Well, and I’ve been working on my Nat’l Boards while he sleeps.)
Anyhow, may you live each day like it’s 1999. Or, whatever.
Love the one your with.
~Em
So, I’ve let time lapse again.
Silas was in the hospital with pneumonia. Of course, it was very daunting and worrisome and I had this tremendous sense of guilt weighing on me. Paul had been staying home with him this time (I had just been out with Silas for a week when he had the flu) and I didn’t fully realize how sick he had gotten. I had had a cold and I thought Silas just had my cold and then wham! he was in the hospital. In fact, when Paul called to let me know that he decided to take him back to the doctor I just commented that they would give him more antibiotic so I didn’t really see the point. Ummm… I was wrong. And, luckily, Paul was there. He was right. And, then we were in the hospital.
Silas is fine now. Nothing an IV and some rest couldn’t cure. Still, when your baby’s sick. It’s just exhausting.
And then we’ve still got all the same old pressures at home. The money trouble and the unfinished house and the stress.
I had really just wanted to write about my muffin top and instead life threw some heavy things my way. Again. And, again. Oh, the unrelenting nature of it all.
Then I get depressed, then I second guess myself and then I have this problem where I think that everything I write needs to be funny or thought-provoking or profound. I give myself wicked cases of writer’s block when I don’t think I can capture the essence of what’s going on in my head. Or, when I think people wouldn’t be interested in hearing me hem and haw over and over again. (Oh, you mean, like I am right now???) I probably could have written a brief piece in the hospital or during Silas’s nap after we got home. But, it was just too big and too dreary and I was sort-of down and I just couldn’t.
But, here I am. I am here. Without anything really profound to say. Just here. And, now that I’ve been here, now that I’ve cleared the air once again, I can get down to finishing my muffin top piece. Because pieces about belly fat are inevitably full of profound, thought-provoking, and humorous moments. Wouldn’t you think?
So, it’s 9:30. I’ve got a whiny son with a temperature and a whiny husband with a cough. My house is beyond looking like vagrants live in it. (I’m not being cute here people.) And, I have a stack of papers to grade up to my knee. (Still not being cute.)
Worst thing: I’m annoying myself terribly. (And, I don’t know how to use punctuation!!!)
It was inevitable. And, don’t think I hadn’t thought of it. I know that the name of my blog has the word “boob” in it. At the time, the time when I was actually reading books (book) while (n’) a child sucked milk from my breast (boob), it seemed like a cool idea. I still think it would make a smart t-shirt. (I’ve already picked out the design.) And, despite the potential porn-seakers, I guess I really don’t want to change. 
But, of course, today marks the day when a smart-aleck blogger– Mike the Bull of all people– decided that I didn’t have enough boob to live up to the name. (Visit him at http://www.mikethebull.com/ And, yes, he writes about dog balls.)
So, why the hell not??? Let’s dedicate the next few minutes to, well, boobies.
(In case you were wondering, that is my under-wire popping out. Just like it was–unbeknownst to me– as I talked to my principal this afternoon.)
So, yes, today, ironically, the day that book n’ boob was finally called out for it’s lack of boob (and sadly, I must say, book as well), my own little fun bags tried to break free.
In an environment where melons, speed bumps and hooters are on the very constant forefront of the minds of at least 1/2-2/3 of the population (I’m a middle school teacher), it is not, in any way advantageous to have one’s ta-tas on display. At least not if you’re trying to be a professional.
I was thankful, however, that no one asked me about the large, round metal instrument that was protruding from my cleavage. Maybe they didn’t notice…
Anyhow.
They say to write what you know and write what you feel. If I’m feeling depressed, it’s hard to write about anything else even about Silas’s new obsession: the word and act of farting.
photos by my husband, Paul
Last weekend, I started a post in which I was describing a ho-hum afternoon:
It’s gray outside. I’m still in my pajamas.
I’m trying to approach this fact with a glass half-full mentality. It’s a luxury really. To be in one’s pajamas at a quarter past one…
…Still, how do you conquer the afternoon in which you just can’t make it to the shower? You know the type when you just stare at the yellow walls. Just stare. Maybe wash a dish or two. Get tired. Continue staring.
That’s the kind of afternoon that I’m having.
…I’m completely unmotivated. Not even to eat really. And, now with Silas asleep and Paul setting up for his big gig, it’s just you and me baby. And since you are not even really real. Then, well, it’s just me.
So, again, today, this is the kind-of afternoon I’m having. Except that today is sunny, I was in my pajamas until 2:30 not 1:15, and Paul is working instead of preparing for a gig. There is an obvious pattern here. Of depression. On the weekends of all things.
Today, I woke up late (blamed my medicine), missed church (blamed Silas’s low-grade fever), waited for Silas to take his nap so that I could get some work done (because our house is trashed and I’m behind at work), found it challenging to get anything done because I abhor the state of our house (Amityville), moped about (of course), talked on the phone with little to no enthusiasm (most likely spreading my ugly state of mind), and then finally decided to forget the house and the work and to lie on my bed an read (Ahhhhh….).
And, voila, a little bit of happiness ensued.
Why couldn’t I just have read on my bed in the first place? It’s as if I have to have an excuse to do something pleasurable. Like I just can’t allow myself to be happy.
I’m starting this post from the lip of the tub. (Well I’m actually sitting on the toilet, but the “lip of the tub” sounded so much more poetic.)
I am in the midst of bath time. And, as you can plainly see, I’m not very attentive during bath time. I usually leave bath time to the boys. They enjoy swatting each other’s penises and I enjoy some time out.
But tonight my hubbie is cooking up some NOLA staples: roast beef po boys, homemade french fries w/ Cajun dipping sauce, and mint juleps. (Yes, I know that mint juleps are really a Kentucky classic but we always enjoy them at a little piano bar in the French Quarter. Therefore, it’s New Orleans to us.)
So, tonight, bath time is left to me. And, since my parents claimed that bath time meant pruned feet and a good book to them, it only makes sense that bath time should mean blogging space for me.
In many ways, it’s really quite refreshing. Silas is content splashing in a 3X5 foot pen and I am here writing and sipping my mint julep and preventing him from drowning. It’s almost a perfect set up. Save for the fact that the toilet is not a very comfortable seat.
***It’s, maybe, fifteen minutes later.***
Bath time is over.
I was just pushed from the bed by my son. He was asking for Daddy and Snuggle Time and when I climbed in the bed he said “No, Mommy, No Snuggle, Mommy, No” and then proceeded to push me until I left.
And they say that boys LOVE their mamas.
That has not been my experience. Silas is a Daddy’s Boy to the very core. Since the awful hour that my breasts stopped making milk, Silas has been a boy of boys.
This blog is a smart, witty, and creatively honest literary work that depicts the triumphs and troubles that playout over time in a mother’s struggle to keep life in balance.. You must read! (it’s not just for ladies either)
– Posted on Facebook by my good friend Anne D.
This monumental pile of dishes are clean.
So, Paul just told me that Limp Bizzzzzzzzkit or some shit covered the song that graces the title of this blog. To the world, I’m sorry.
Still, here I am again. In all my glory. I had a crazy surge of energy the other night (hence the 3AM post) and, following Nina’s lead, got myself added to the Asheville Blogroll. http://www.blogasheville.blogspot.com/
And, created a Facebook Page for this site. (Join it, yeah!)
And, finally got some GD photos posted on this here blog. (You might laugh at me, but there is something either wrong with my web hosting or wrong with my computer or wrong with me. Or, all of the above. But, it was a nasty, multi-hour, uploading to Shutterfly, and then making a copy, and then uploading again, kind-of bizarre experience. In short, it really sucked.)
However, as you can tell from the quote above, it paid off.
So, I thought I could start posting cute little pictures of Silas on my blog. But, and I don’t know why, I don’t think that’s my style. (However, it might be tomorrow.) Instead, I uploaded more kitchen. Paul has a new thing against our ancient dishwasher, so we often have this large pile of dishes (clean or dirty) piled up around our sink. It’s not pretty. But, then again, it’s our life. And, since my title is faith-uh-faith-uh-faith-uh, it makes sense. To me. (Read on.)
The heat is on and it is quarter-to-three in the morning. I am in my red-and-black checked flannel nightgown and am wearing some knitted socks with jingly wreaths on the side of them. And, I’m about to make some friggin’ hot cocoa.
Yeah, it’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas.
(Don’t vomit. I know it’s not even Halloween yet! But, we are on that holly jolly slippery slope to Merryland!!!)
(I am a Christmas freak by the way.)
In the spirit of almost-Christmas and in my new attempts to look at the light at the end of the tunnel, I am going to talk about our kitchen as if I were to actually like it.
The new and improved look. Read the rest of this entry »
A couple of months ago, I wrote:
Today, I overheard a co-worker telling a real estate agent that she is in the process of getting a separation. She has two boys and one is only 7 months old. It made me feel sad for her but almost relieved. Of course I don’t know the particulars, but I was relieved to know that someone else was finding marriage and children tough. Now that I’ve written that down I feel pretty shallow. But, I’m just being honest. I get all wound up sometimes when people seem to be going along all pretty and pink.
In fact, I can hardly stomach couples with two (or more) kids.
Especially if they’re smiling.
Then I wrote a little P.S. ~
(To those of you managing with multiples, I hope I did not offend. But right now you just happen to be up there with women who maintain a size 4, eat doughnuts, and refuse to exercise. If you are a size four, and you have three kids, and you eat doughnuts, and you’re still married, you best stay out of my way…)
Apparently, I was offensive. But, that’s beside the point.
