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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.

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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.)

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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.

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Now that I have come clean, I just want to say that I am wildly inspired.

I am also envious of a friend whose blog is so damn beautiful that I want to scream. http://www.iwantnina.blogspot.com

Anyhow, I just spent 30 minutes taking pictures of old books. Maybe I just needed to shed off my old skin and start fresh.

I hope so.

First of all, I can’t sleep.  Second, I’m forcing myself to be here.

I started this post over a week ago and this is as far as I got:

I was at church recently (I attend a Unitarian Universalist congregation) and the minister was speaking about the experience of young adult cancer patients in the context of finding a greater hope and recognizing joy.  He quoted a young woman who said something (unfortunately I didn’t write down the quote because I swore I would remember it later) along the lines of “at night it is difficult to get into my scary bed with my scary thoughts.”

Then, I stopped.  That’s as far as I’ve been getting lately.  Basically, the part about the scary thoughts.

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I wrote this eons ago and never finished.   Thought you might enjoy.  I will make it my aim to finish it in a timely fashion.  E.

P.S. ~ Forgive me for last night’s deprecation.

Now, the the story part two, part one:

We’re heading back from Florida and Silas needs a bath so bad that we look like negligent parents.  Aside from the oily coils of hair framing his face, the dirt streaked on his cheeks, and the stinky nature of his feet, he is also covered in bumps and scrapes and mosquito bites.   I suppose, though, that filth and fracture on a toddler are just marks of the fun that was had.  Belt notches, baby style. 

So, yeah, Silas had a hell of a time.  Maybe a better time than I did.

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I am supposed to be working on my National Board portfolio, but instead I am here.  Briefly, I must warn you.  But here.  (Sound like yesterday’s rant?  Yeah, I still have nothing to say…)

I’m still recovering from the story my mother just told me.  The one that she thought that I would appreciate because it would never happen to me.  The one in which my mom encountered a woman who had a 5-week-old baby and she just couldn’t believe that the woman had had a baby because she looked so damn good. (Yeah, that means that my mom apparently thinks I don’t look so hot post-partum…)

So what if I cried for a good 20 minutes or so after getting off the phone.

Yeah, I’m not so happy with my weight.  (And, I’m not going to go down that path…  but I’m having trouble doing anything about it.)  But, I do believe that I still look rather hip.  I have fashion sense and I’m naturally, um, attractive and, like, people want to do me.

Did I just say that people want to do me???

Okay, I did.  And, so what?!?  It’s my coping mechanism.

Anyhow, aside from that little aside, things are going along swimmingly.

Well, treadingly.  (That means that we’re treading instead of swimming, so like, we’re making it, but we’re not, uh, moving anywhere fast.)

Silas has refrained from being a whiny little shit the last few days and has been a rather independent little playmonger.  (Whining is one quality that I don’t have the stomach for.  Yeah, when he was biting it pissed me off.  But that constant whining!  I can’t type what I was thinking.  I’ll let you imagine it.  It was frightfully morbid.)

Ummm.  Work is going well.  I, uh, am reading another book.  We had Ahi Tuna Steaks for dinner.  (No, we’re still poor.  Unbelievable sale…)  I bought Silas a potty for his birthday.  (How inventive!)

Feel like we’re on a really bad date?  Me too.

I’m sorry I am so damn blank.

When I get around to it, I do want to tell the story of my battle (and subsequent loss) with Silas the Persistent at Stephapalooza.

Until then,

Yours,

with a post partum jelly belly,

Me.

I’m out on the back deck.  I haven’t been on the back deck all summer.  (Long story. Maybe later.) I’m looking at what was supposed to be my garden– now a well overgrown patch of breast-high weeds in the middle of a yard that desperately needs mowing– and am trying to breathe in the night air without obsessing about what the neighbors must think of us.  It has been so long since I’ve been on my  blog that Wordpress has changed the entire format and I didn’t even know about it.

I’m sorry.

I am alive.

In fact, I’ve started some posts.  I have.  I swear.  But the Internet has been touch and go at our place and I’ve started back to work and ya-da-ya-da-ya-da. 

It’s just that I haven’t felt like I’ve had anything to say.

But, I’m here.  Again.  And you love me.

Don’t you?

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Those are the hours I worked today.  Just kicked my work shoes off and feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.  Can you forgive me if I wait until tomorrow???

Thanks,

Em