Wednesday, November 5, 2014

My Mom is Nuts

I see so many Mommy blogs. Working Mommy, Stay at Home Mommy, Amazing Pinterest Mommy, and (Yet not as many) What's happening Mommy.

So here's my take on this hot topic.
We Make It Work
Preferably without Prozac, but understandably so.
We Make It Work
Preferably without yelling but, who the hell are you kidding.
We Make It Work
Preferably without gadgets, but go eff yourself.
We Make It Work

I like to think I am an in tune with both the stay at home and working mom. The stay at home Mom, which I became unplanned. And, the working Mom, which my sister is the highest level of;  have conversations that are full of deep moments and adorable toddler shit while she is making her way home in Baltimore traffic.  That's what I  get, and I take what I can get, because I know she works hard and loves her kids, and the minute she walks in the door- that's it.  

So let me start. I'm a stay at home, part time working, mom- with ZERO family in a 2000 mile radius. Both myself and the baby daddy I call husband are transplants to the great White Hope- Utah. And, despite our lack of interest in the local faith, green Jello, and a great interest in Friday night's with wine- it turns out, I really like raising my children in an affordable, pretty, safe place.  
We might be an exception for loneliness in this mecca of children, but give me the pleasure to rant, regardless.

"My mom was crazy"- This is the Intro of the fictitious novel I see being written in the head of my current 7 year old. On a hike recently, i thought to myself, maybe we spend too much time together. Maybe this young, strong (very opinionated)  , smart (too smart for my own good), stubborn(argumentative) baby! (young girl) spends too much time with her crazy ass mom. 

They get all of me, her and her sister. They get too much of me. Maybe if I worked, they wouldn't have the chance to write a novel in 20 years that starts with "I think my mother was a fucking skitzzo.." Because, my house wouldn't be a cluttered sticky mess, my life thoughts wouldn't parallel the chaos of scattered toys, and crap around me, because I could hear nothing for minutes except... nothing.

I'm not whining. I walk my daughter and dog to school over coffee and hot chocolate with the effing rocky mountains for a view. We live in a really safe place, I raise my children, and by 4pm we are planning what game or movie we will engage after a dinner that I have cooked- every night. The thing never stops. Of course they are amazing little scientists discovering every god damn thing, including their own voice and intelligence, but THEY NEVER STOP. And, they argue- LOUDLY about the stupidest shit! Like lalaloopsy dolls, and the occupying fort rights;forts made from my fucking couch cushions! And they yell "It's not fair!!! louder than "The British are coming!!!!"

I've read the blogs... I know, my amazing working mom's don't want to hear about the insane usage a house gets when you have to be there all day with these sweet little dirt bags, but let me tell you, it's enough to bring you to viscous tears. They have no respect or gratitude and why should they? They are children, tiny little people that I'm in charge of shaping, molding, feeding, loving- But, someone, please, help me process that, and just pick up their shit without grumbling like a lunatic on meth and glue?

I took a class (oh Christ,watch out), but, I took a class: "Marriage and the Family Experience". It was 2 years ago.  I decided to finish my Associates degree at the tender age of 33. reported that most marriages end..END!!! because of housework. The unequal distribution of housework between spouses. SPOUSES WITH BEAUTIFUL AMAZING children...:


I digress. But, here I go trying to conclude: I know my sister won't have time to call me when she is home from work, and I understand and respect that.  That's her fleeting time.

In EVERY given day, I remember why I'm happy to do what I do. I never thought I'd be a stay at home mom. I worked 2 jobs for most of my life. I have 2 girls, who are beautiful and healthy. I literally witness every moment of them evolving, and growing, and thinking on different levels. While I clean shit(actual poop) off the toilet seat, washable (not washable) paint off the floor, and peanut butter off of...everything, SPOILER ALERT: I'm not smiling while doing this! But, i get it... why you're also not smiling not doing it, working mothers.

I'm there, and that's gonna pay off in another way...shit, I hope so.

But, i TRULY worry they get too much of me. They get all the mid 30's hormones and breakdowns, and they have to witness every processed decision because this is us, this is their family, this is what we are, and we are really good, but we are really messy, and we are really flawed...

"My mother was crazy..." 
I'm not, for the record. I'm human. 

But, my daughter who sees all of me...that might be how she interprets me one day.  I hope it comes out as; "She was  loving and always here, rather than..She was crazy and I wish she'd leave me alone." 

It's not easy..Not fucking any of it. We just gotta love the good parts.

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

Listen to this

"Take My Hand, Not My Picture..."

Twirling my own fingers and tightinigh my core
with images of years spent waiting for
you on the floor.

So many breaths taken in your
spectrum, waiting in an alley
my tounge thumping like a drum.
So many days spent in rivers of weeps
so many moments and trouble
with sleep

Throwing pennies over bridges
writing words that did nothing
anxious, nervous, twitching
risky, careless, slushing.

All because of love
or the thought that it might be discovered
a brand new smell
and brand new covers

And years have sped by 
And epidermall skin has died
a thousand times over
like a broken film clicking 
and clicking
and clicking

The tragic comedy
the heroin an average man
casually strolling below the beat of the earth's heart...

So, songs will soar me back
and small hands catapult to the present
summarized in moments
with lyrics misinterpreted. 

And, I wait.

 "I don't want to take what you can give...
I would rather starve than eat your bread...
I would rather run but I can't walk...
Guess I'll lie alone just like before...
I'll take the vermin's path... oh, and I must refuse your test
A-push me and I will resist... this behavior's not unique
I don't want to hear from those who know...
They can buy, but can't put on my clothes...
I don't want to limp for them to walk...
Never would have known of me before...
I don't want to be held in your debt...
I'll pay it off in blood, let I be wed...
I'm already cut up and half dead...
I'll end up alone like I began...
Everything has chains... absolutely nothing's changed
"Take my hand, not my picture," spilled my tincture"


No one can really know Everything about you, but

I cannot live with someone who can't live without me.
Nadine Gordimer