It's What's For Dinner!

Why is he such an idiot?  I mean he is a friggin engineer!  AN ENGINEER!  Super smart, and he can’t engineer a dinner?  Every time he makes dinner - and it happens possibly once every 2 months - he can’t seem to do it by himself.  Every. Time.  First, it starts with this great announcement.  “I got dinner, hun!”  Then the banging starts.  The banging of pots, pans and slamming of food onto the counter.  Mind you, he has no idea what food we have or what he is making.  But the noise starts.  Then comes the curses and the proclamations of “Why don’t we have______ ?” (insert any inane ingredient)   and “Where is the ______?”  (insert ANY kitchen object) and comments like “When are you going back to the Giant?”  I refuse to answer .... now.  After almost 12 years of marriage I have figured out that it is easier on all of us if I ignore these questions.  Then he finally figures out what he is cooking and says..... again...... “I am cooking dinner.”  This is where I go upstairs to “go to the bathroom.”  Because I cook every meal, all the time, with one or both kids and a dog up my ass, I don’t feel guilty about this. 

When he has some inkling of what he has to cook, it usually requires the grill.  NO, not a gas grill, he refuses to use a gas grill.  We don’t even own one.  He insists it is because he is a Barbecue purist.  I think that is part of it, but the other part is he is also paranoid and convinced that the gas grill will blow up - one way or another.  

His timing is all wrong.  He starts to actually make dinner at the time we should already be eating dinner.  Most of us who cook dinner on a regular basis, know that no matter if you are doing Rachel Ray’s 15 Minute Meals or if you are making a gourmet meal, you have to budget at LEAST an hour, start to finish.  NO meal takes 15 minutes, unless you are ALONE in a perfectly equipped kitchen, with EVERYTHING clean and ALL ingredients prepped ahead of time.   I wanna see Rach, make a meal with someone throwing a fit about his math homework and another coming out of the bathroom with his ass high in the air, yelling at her to wipe him. Yummo!  But I digress.  Where where we?  Oh yes, The Hub, cooking dinner.  

He starts at 5:30, and since he is going outside, the kids want to help him.  Inevitably, I have to come back downstairs from “going to the bathroom.” This is where The Hub sends First Born in with a request.... “Ma, I need more hamburgers.”  “Mom, where are the buns.”  “Mom, do we have hot dogs?”  Meanwhile, we have no buns, there were only 2 turkey burgers in the freezer and we have 3 hot dogs left, again with no buns.  The requests keep on coming, from tin foil to a spatula to a plate.  The table still has crayons and play-doh on it, intermixed with three days of the Philadelphia Inquirer, that neither of us has had a chance to read.  

Flashback.......... remembering Sunday morning,1999..... 9am.....laying in bed with The Hub before he was The Hub, when he was just Dude......  He gets up, makes me scrapple, eggs, bagels, a pot of coffee......serves me breakfast in bed.... we share the newspaper.....fill our bellies, then fall back to sleep for a little cat nap before getting up.   Ahhh, I miss being wooed.

Ok back to reality, messy kitchen table, not enough food and everyone is hungry and irritated.  The Hub cooks 3 hot dogs 2 burgers and a pan of frozen french fries on the grill.  He walks in the house with the boys.  He puts a cookie sheet with said food on the counter and says.  “OK, dinner is ready. Boys go sit down.  I am going to go cook my hot wings and sausage now.”  Exit The Hub.  

He leaves me with hungry, arguing boys, a cookie sheet of meet and french fries and the table a mess.  This is dinner?  I get heckled when I make a meal that does not include hot rolls along with the meat, starch, and veggies!  I have to explain that the butternut squash, parsley couscous is both a veggie and starch combined, so NO I am not missing a side!   What the fuck!  OK I need to simmer down.  

I make the best of the “meal” for the boys.  I cut the hot dogs up in to little pieces and stuck toothpicks in them.  The boys love poking things with pointy objects.  The burgers were put on english muffins, that I had to thaw in the microwave and toast, since they were in the freezer.  The boys loved the fries.  I added yogurt and an apple and called it a day. 

When the boys are about finished, The Hub comes in with his wings and hot sausage and sits down to eat.  I look at my clan, look at my kitchen with every conceivable pot, pan and utensil sitting out somewhere it does not belong.  Tin foil still out by the grill and I realized that the dog did not eat.  So I get up and feed the dog so she will stop begging at the table.   “Hey Mom, can I have some more milk?” I swear First Born would drink a gallon a day if I let him.  “Hey Mommy, Daddy, First Borny,  Look, look I made a hotdog telescope.”    Little One has 3 toothpicks set up like a tripod with a piece of hot dog on the top. We all giggle with him.  He really cracks us up.  Spurred on by this, he makes mini barbells and other strange, toothpick, hotdog objects.  We are all laughing now at his silliness.  I love this kid.  

Then my stomach grumbles.  ((big sigh)) I did not eat yet and there is nothing left.  MoFo's!!! But Little One has me laughing too hard to be mad.  Smiling I walk over to the microwave and nuke the leftover butternut squash, parsley couscous.  That shit is good! It’s what’s for dinner!  

Working it Out

Zumba, Yoga, Body Pump, Body Combat, Spin, Pilates, these are some of the group workouts offered at my local YMCA.  I have been a member of a YMCA off and on since I was 5 years old.  I was always an active child and competed in USGF Gymnastics from the age of 7 until I was 18.  I practiced  4-6 hours a day, 6 days a week for most of my young life.  I loved it.  I was committed to it.  I had some crazy-ass coaches who would probably be put in jail or sued in today’s world, but I still loved it. 

I was in peak physical condition with 2% body fat (I know, because they checked our body fat right after they weighed us in every week)  I ate ANYTHING I wanted, and a LOT of it.  My metabolic rate must have been off the charts.  I did not hit puberty until I was 16.  So my body changed a bit after that.   When I stopped competing I was still pretty active but no where near to the point of before.   It took years for my metabolism to change and slow dramatically.  However I still continued to eat.  It caught up with me in my mid to late 20s.  

I am 40 and just started to do something about it.  I exercise 3 days a week. OK that is a lie.  Some weeks I get to exercise 3 days. Some weeks I don’t exercise at all. Some weeks 2 days.... you get the picture.  When I have my period I don’t exercise at all. AT. ALL!  I groan, and whine and eat chocolate or pasta.  Then, when I feel better, I usually get back at it.  

I have been eating better and cutting out the carbs.  Ok that is also a lie.  I SHOULD be cutting out the carbs because my triglycerides are through the roof but I am definitely conscious of my carb intake and make an effort. 

I am comfortable with my current weight and my body.  OK I AM SO LYING!  BUT, I am definitely headed in the right direction.  The weight is ok, I balloon up 5 or so lbs every once and a while but I bring it back down.  My body is mezzo mezzo.  I am so so so jealous of that kick ass body of my early 20s. I mean God DAMN!   What I wouldn’t give to be back in that body just one more day.  (I am also sorry my husband never had that pleasure either!)  

Now, I have stretched out boobs, belly and thighs that shimmer with silvery stripes. I have a  gut that has been carved open and sown back together twice, with the precision of a haggard, worn out, OB/GYN who just saved my life.... again.  But I wear these with pride.  They are my battle scars and I earned those stripes. However, I do want to take care of myself and be healthy.  I think that my motivation is not appearance but longevity and health. The “looking good” is a bonus, if it happens.

I have tried many different types of workouts.  I have done the at home dvds, Wii, and the myriad of YMCA group classes as well as their fitness room.  Each have a different affect.  Each a different purpose.  Everyone has their own.  

Let me start with Spin.  The spin people, are fucking crazy!  And I don’t mean that in a bad way.  I mean with all due respect.... CRA CRA!  I got on that bike and within three and a half minutes I was drenched with sweat and looking at the clock in amazement that an hour did not go by.  I laughed when the instructor, who is a friend, said to “turn it up” (meaning the tension on the bike.)  Turn it up?  I can’t even pedal with it off, let alone with tension on it!  And Girlfriend is an absolute NUT!  I mean her energy level is beyond intense. She draws a huge spin crowd. Girlfriend has her own following and for good reason.  One workout will guarantee you walk crawl out of there 5 lbs lighter...  Just from sweat! Being a fellow Italian, I can also say she is loud.  I mean, my-Aunt Rose-yelling-at-the-kids-to-get-off-of-her-stoop kind of loud.  With her voice and her spinning legs, she could power the Mid-Atlantic region.  I am in awe of her and will never go to another spin class again, until I have trained for some sort of bike marathon.  Then MAYBE I will attempt another of her classes.  

Then there is Pilates.  SNOBS!  Seriously, W - T - F!  Now, let me preface, I have not been to a pliates class in a very long time and have never been to one at my local Y.  But the one I went to years ago, when Pilates was all the rage, was awful.  If you were new to the whole scene you were looked down upon. If you wore sweats and an old Bonner High School football T-shirt, you were looked down upon.  If you laughed when you were in a seemingly, very sexual position, you were looked down upon.  The competition seemed almost dangerous.  When these women should have been concentrating on what they were doing on those crazy machines, they were too busy trying to outdo those around them.  I walked out of that class, the lowest on the totem pole and was happy about it.  Bitches, man!    

Then there is the whole in-home work out thing.  Which you REALLY have to be motivated to do.  It is just too, too, too easy to turn off the DVD and turn on The Real Housewives of New Jersey.  Although if I had to recommend any DVD, Shawn T. is the bomb! His Hip Hop Abs, Rock!   Not only do I love love love watching him he is very motivating. 

Then we have Zumba, which I LOVE!  I love to dance.  I am not good at it, but I love it.  The whole Zumba vibe is chill and fun and no pressure.  There are old and young, fit and not fit, good dancers and really bad dancers and I always feel comfortable shaking my groove thang with these ladies.  A good friend of mine is a Zumba instructor. She is amazing. She exudes positive energy. I love when she says, “No one is looking at you except you!  Cause we are all too busy looking at ourselves so just keep moving!”  She picks really great music that makes you want to move.   She choreographs the moves with the music AND the words, which makes you feel like you are a backup dancer at a concert.  Which helps when you feel like you are going to pass out... You don’t want to let Justin Timberlake or PitBull down! 

My other new favorite is Yoga.  I have been to many Yoga classes.  There was only one class when I did not like the instructor.  She just seemed miserable which just does not vibe with Yoga.  I don’t know how you can do Yoga and not feel good.  It is almost impossible.  

I have done the hot Yoga.  The first hot Yoga class I went to, I was unaware that it was a hot yoga class.  So when I sat down on my mat I thought, ‘wow, when are they going to turn on the air?’  The room was packed and I was sweating just taking off my shoes.  I practically water boarded myself while doing a downward facing dog.  I was breathing through my nose, as I was instructed and thought a bug flew up my nose.  It was not a bug but my sweat dripping off my chin and upper lip into my nostrils.  In Yoga, breathing is key.  It’s rhythm and flow is an essential part of the practice.  So, when you are drowning in your own sweat, breathing becomes difficult.  OH and the smell emanating from my body was, how can I put this, was like walking through the zoo on an August afternoon.  Not pretty. I was not aware that my body could produce smells like that.  Combine that with everyone else’s smell, the fact that there was no other air to breath and concentration becomes compromised.  When I was not water-boarding myself or smelling myself, I was in a great zone.  That is what Yoga does for me.  It puts me in a “me” zone.   The peak pose that day was wheel pose, which is a back bend.  I was able to do it and felt great that I did.   

The other thing I love about Yoga is you are forced to concentrate on you. Your mat, your breath, your pose, your body, your muscles, your flexibility.  It does not leave room for other distractions like, what am I cooking for dinner?  What time does First Born have guitar lessons?  What do we have going on this weekend?  Will Little One ever want to sleep in his own bed?  When is the car inspection due?  etc. , etc., etc.  Those thoughts may try to creep in, but you are always brought back to your breath.

Sometimes I need to release those good endorphins with a high paced, great cardio like Zumba.  I need to shake what my mama gave me and feel sexy.  Other times I need to just be with Yoga.  Right now they are the only two programs I stick to, mainly because they are the only exercises that I WANT to do. I look forward to them and hope I will continue to do so.   Those are my favorite.   The next on my list to try are Body Combat and Body Pump.  As soon as I try them, I will be sure to report back!  Do you have a favorite workout? My blogger friend wrote a piece on running.  Great stuff.  I will never be a runner.  I just don’t have it in my nature.  But I envy those that do. I did run across another blog all about exercising and being healthy called “Mommy’s Downsizing”  It is a hysterical blog and I recommend it highly. 

Gimme a W, Gimme an A, Gimme an L....

I am at Walmart today. OK that already sucks, but here it is.  A Walmart opened in my neighborhood, and while I would have been fine with a Target or Kohls or Whole Foods, Walmart will do.   

We are a one income family so every penny pinched helps.  Especially when cereal is ridiculously cheaper at Walmart.  Seriously, why is it, that the same box of Honey Bunches of Oats is almost $3.00 more in the regular grocery store?  

Anyway, back to my point.  I am in Walmart, getting my cereal, and a box fan for the window... and a drill... and Kashi bars (again so much cheaper!) and I hear claps and a group “woo hoo.” OK? Not sure what that was, but I go about my business and again I hear 2 distinct group claps and a “woo hoo.”  I then see a group of Walmart Associates in a huddle in the middle of the store, and every time someone says something, the group claps twice and says, “woo hoo!”  

It was an employee meeting/pep rally/revival.  I was too far away to hear the content of the meeting, but my first impression was.  OH HELL NO!  They are making them hoot and clap?  At a meeting?  At the beginning of their shift?  They just got there!  Why are they making them do that?  Then I thought, well maybe they want to.  

NO, there is no way grown adults want to do that at work, in unison, before they start working.  Then I thought, that finding a job now is difficult and this particular Walmart just provided my community with 300 new jobs.  Kudos.  I do like that.  But in order to have a job there, do you have to pretend you are in love with Walmart?  I mean I liked working in many different jobs, but there was never a day where I would WANT to stand with my fellow coworkers, and management and clap and hoot, like I was at a ball game.  The only time that was acceptable was when I worked as a summer camp counselor.  And we did it for the 5-12 year old kids. 

"We need to talk about your flair."

It reminds me of the movie Office Space.  Where Jennifer Anniston’s character is being talk to about her “flair.”  OK maybe I am too cynical.  Maybe I need to lighten up.  But I almost felt as though the employees were being disrespected.  

It was like they were being told  ‘To work here, you have to fall in line with our over the top rah rah sessions and drink the kool aid.  If you don’t like it, well that is not an option if you want a job here.’  

Am I crazy?  Is it really that bad?  Maybe it would be fun to cheer and clap at my job.  Maybe they know more about what motivates employees then I do.  They sure know more about how to make money.  They sure know more about how to get that cereal for $3.00 cheaper.  

I tried to put myself in those employees’ shoes.  Standing in a morning meeting, in the middle of the store,  I would be so pissed if someone MADE me hoot and holler and cheer.  I would not be on board with that.  But if it meant feeding my family and keeping a roof over our heads, I would be doing backflips if need be.  That is where I feel like they have people by the balls.  

I know that there have been times, when I was working in the corporate world, where I have done and said things that I hated doing.  

“Yea, I’m gonna need you to come on in on Sunday.”

Once when I was an executive assistant, my boss, a middle aged rich white guy, came out of a meeting and handed me a crown.  No, not a crown for my head, which I deserved, but the crown from his tooth. It had fallen out while he was in a meeting and his first and only thought was to give it to me!

He grabbed my hand and put his tooth crown in it and yelled, “MY tooth! My tooth! Call the dentist and fix this now. This is an important meeting and I can’t deal with this shit!”  

This is the same man who would stand in front of my desk, eyes closed, with his hand on his forehead like he was Yeats writing a poem, to dictate a letter to an investor.  He was crazy.  He had his own CD.  He would practice his singing in his office and have me schedule his appointments with his vocal coach.  He also demanded that when I came in in the morning, I was to go into his office and open his blinds, arrange his mail and make him a cup of tea, so when he came in he wouldn’t have to do these things.  When he would leave, I was required to make sure his lights were turned off, his blinds closed and his desk straightened up.   

So I get it.  I know that we all have worked for crazy.  I know that although I hated much of that job, I did like some of it.  I also knew that to keep my job, I did not throw the tooth back in his face or mail obscenities to the investor, or spill the hot tea all over his perfectly coifed hair, or scratch his Jaguar in the parking lot.  

There is definitely a difference between a good job and a good paying job.  I have had many of both, not necessarily at the same time.  But I get it.  We do what we have to do. Walmart is no different.  I just hope that the people in the Walmart I was in, know that when I saw them in their meeting, I felt for them and it made me think.  ‘Do they want to cheer?’  I tried to smile and be extra nice to the Associates I saw that day and when I checked out.  Maybe I had no reason to feel for them.  Maybe they were cool with it.  Maybe they are not as cynical as I am.   Please tell me your work rah rah horror stories.  I have more but I need to save material for future blogs!  

Here and Now

School started.  First Born is taking 3rd grade by storm. This may be a challenging year but he seems ready and excited.  Little One starts his first day of pre-school, without me, away from my arms, out of my sight, for 2.5 hours 2 days a week.  He starts tomorrow.  We did a “get acquainted” day last week and he was psyched.  The Hub and I couldn’t have been prouder, watching him walk up to new friends and teachers and telling them his name and asking for theirs. He liked playing in the play kitchen and asked a little girl what she wanted for dinner and proceeded to make it for her. We were beaming.  He looked up every once and a while to see us standing there and smiled.  Sometimes coming over to us to give us hugs.  When it was time for snack, the parents were ushered out of the room, while the kids stayed. He physically pushed us out of the door.  

Because he was a premie and the Hub and I are not any where near tall, he is on the small side.  He is 4 but still wears size 2T and we are just getting into 3T.  He is smart as a whip and cool as a cucumber.  I had a difficult time getting pregnant with him and as I explained in some previous posts, I spent time in the hospital  (4th paragraph down if you don’t feel like reading my rant on religion) and so did he. 

I think that leaving him anywhere, even in a wonderful place, like his new school, or his own bed, sends an instant reminder of my leaving him in that little isolette in the NICU every day for 18 days.  Every time I walked out of that NICU, whether it was for the night or for a bite to eat, or to go to the bathroom, it ripped my heart to shreds.  I would arrive at the NICU between 8am and 9am and leave around 6pm or 7pm.  I called the NICU nurses every night between 11:30pm and midnight, (waiting for the shift to change over) to get a report on his numbers, how much he ate, what his diaper weighed and what his temps were. I wrote everything down. I sat and pumped my breast milk every 2-4 hours to keep my supply up and stored the milk in the freezer until I could run it to the hospital the next day.  I set my alarm at night so I could pump through the night.  I brought the pump with me to the hospital and sat next to his isolette or in the private pumping room and turned my milk over to the nurses.  I would try to have him latch on although he was not able to.  I remember thinking how it must have looked to him to have a boob that was bigger than his head coming at him!   I just kept putting my milk in the tiny little bottles that they provided, trying to feed him that way.  That is what took the longest.  He couldn’t get the hang of eating without the feeding tube.  I remember when he took 40ml of milk. (just less than 1.5 ounces) I was thrilled.  The nurses and I did a jig and cheered him on.  I kept looking at the bottle and saying “ LOOK he did it! He ate all that himself!”   He eventually got the hang of it.  As he graduated from his billirubin blanket, cpap, and his heart monitor, he started maintaining a normal temperature and FINALLY they were able to take out the feeding tube and iv.  I was thrilled, ecstatic, nervous and happy all at once.  They had him do a car seat check, where they put him in his car seat for 30 minutes and check to see if he can maintain all his levels with no alarms going off.  He passed with flying colors.  Then the nurse surprised us with:  “Today is the day! Look who you get to take home!”   We were floored.  

When your baby is in the NICU, you don’t ask too often about a timeline.  You take it day by day, hour by hour and minute by minute.  Each second is a blessing and you don’t want to look too far ahead, only because all the energy you have is focused on the here and now.   We took him home.  Home, with us. With his exhausted and physically broken mother who would go into the ER with kidney stones 2 days later. Then back to the ER with gallstones 3 weeks after that. Then back into surgery 2 months after that to have her thyroid removed.  With a father who was keeping everything together with a very thin thread, maintaining the house, the 4 year old, the finances and his job all with out the help of his wife. With the 4.5 year old big brother who felt neglected and scared not wanting mommy to leave him again and wanting everything to go back to the way it was before.  But Little One came home.  He was calm.  He rolled with it all.  

It was a tough time.  It tested us, at times, beyond recognition.  I had a complete mental breakdown.  Such severe panic attacks that I was unable to leave the corner of my bedroom for almost a week.  I felt weak and unstable.  But we got through.  We stepped up and through it.  I got myself to therapy and on anti-depressants.  We gave First Born some well deserved extra attention and some therapy. To this day still try to carve out some attention time just for him.  And the start of it all, Little One, with his smile and joy, kept us smiling too.  He thrived and continues to thrive.  He loves life, he is happy, he is joyful and he keeps me remembering how precious life is and continues to be.  How much we need to live in the here and now, enjoy each and every moment.  

He is going to school tomorrow, without me.  He is growing and thriving.  He is on to the next stage and like each step in the NICU, it is necessary and positive.   This school is his own.  It was not his brother’s before him. It exclusively belongs to Little One and he seems to really like that. Tomorrow, he may cry and he may not.  From the looks of things he won’t.  But I know once he is safe inside that building sharing his light with everyone around him, I will cry.  Not because I am sad that he is growing up, but because I am happy that he is with us and continuing to thrive, love and smile!  Happy “Back to School” to all of our little miracles! Appreciate the here and now! 

Premature Intoxication

While this story is so sad and so pathetic, I have to say that the embarrassment is starting to wear off.  It may take a long time, but it is slowly going away.  Like faint tan lines that you still notice in January, or bits of that toe nail polish that is still there and you can’t even remember when you last painted your toes, or your husband’s hair line.  It is slowly fading.  What will not fade is my disappointment in myself.  That seems to grow.  

Let me set up the days preceding the event.  I wanted to celebrate turning 40 and did not want my husband or best friend J, to have to plan anything.  I did not want to put them through the trouble of organizing an... I am a control freak.  I thought it would be fun to get old and new friends together at an old friend’s bar.  His place is very casual, lots of fun and draws a diverse crowd.  I planned a “facebook event” and invited a wonderful group of people. 

In preparation, I tried to coordinate transportation for those who were traveling from an hour away.  I spoke to my friend who owns the bar about getting some sort of drink special and letting me purchase apps for my guests.  I agonized about whether I was being too tacky, throwing my OWN birthday party.  Ok I did not agonize, it was brought to my attention by a friend, and I thought about it for about 3 minutes.  I sent reminders on facebook.  I bought myself a really cute outfit, complete with platform wedges. I got a mani/pedi. I got my hair done.  My excitement grew.  Not only was I going to connect/reconnect with great friends. I was getting a night out, with NO responsibilities, No kids, no curfews, no driving, no worries!  Therein lies the problem.  It turns out I don’t know how to act when that scenario pans out.  

I have written other blogs here that have extolled my constant worrying. My monotonous daily life as a mother.  How I may lose my shit at times.  How I need sex.  SO when these kids obstacles are removed, I am a bit out of my element. It wasn’t that long ago I was single with no children.  The only thing I owned was my beat up car, my clothes and really, really cute shoes.  I would go out socially a lot.  In my late 20s, I never had a real problem with having a great time and still maintaining an outward appearance of having my shit together.  There were times that I over consumed, acted rowdy, made poor choices, BUT I was in my teens and 20s.  I did these irresponsible things when I had no real responsibilities.  Those days seem so vastly far away and my memories of those nights out, are vague at best.  

Now when I go out, there are usually, kid menus to consider, bed times to think about and potty runs to navigate.  If there is alcohol, there is a level stare between the Hub and myself that says, “Are you driving or am I?”  I am usually offering to drive.   So a night of potential, uninhibited, reckless, abandon is not what I am used to or apparently can be trusted with.  

I turned 40 on Thursday.  On Friday we meet up with my parents and my grandmother, who turned 92 that day.  We had a wonderful meal, good wine and the best part, the kids, went home with my parents!  YAY, they were staying with them for 2 nights!  I was giddy.  The Hub and I thoroughly enjoyed our alone time that evening.  As the Hub would say “I got your 50 shades right here!”  Too much? Sorry.   

Saturday was the day of the event.  Although there was only one other couple from my neighborhood going downtown with us, the Hub convinced me to get a limo.  I have been in a limo one other time in my life and that was my wedding day 11 years ago.  What a blast.  I was excited throughout the day.  I exercised. I only had 2 bowls of cereal and about 4 cups of coffee since I was planning on eating tons of fattening bar food all night and did not want to burst the seams of my new outfit. I got my hair done and put makeup on.  I don’t usually put on any more than eye liner, blush and mascara.  But, I bought eye shadow.  I was going for a “smokey” eye but kept looking like I was just in the ring with Rocky.  After many tries and quite a while with some practice, I got it right.  My outfit was exactly what I had searched for.  I looked good and felt even better.   Our friends from our neighborhood and the limo showed up at the same time.  I kept asking the Hub, ‘Do I need anything?  Did you check the doors?  Is Dog in her crate?  Is Cat fed?’ He looked at me an said, “Relax! Everything is taken care of!”  I scooted into the limo and here is where everything went wrong.  Terribly, terribly wrong.  

Champagne.  I have had glasses at weddings.  I have sipped on New Years Eve.  There was one time, on our honeymoon, on a vineyard in Italy, when we split a bottle of their sparkling wine.  Hub said I just giggled, and went to bed and awoke the next morning feeling nothing but hungry.   In the limo, the Hub opened one of three bottles of Champagne.  Here is what happened in my brain the rest of the night. (My brain looks like this and what actually came out of my mouth looks like this.)

‘Mmmm, champagne, pretty tasty.  Who knew?  Not bad at all.  I can’t wait to get some chicken wings, fries, ooh I hope they have potato skins with little bacon....ooohh, shrimp lejon.  That would be awesome.  Wow, this is almost like ginger ale.  Why are these glasses so skinny? Obviously not meant for people with noses like mine.  It is going down nice and easy! Oh there is another bottle, sure open it up.  It’s my birthday! 

“This is MY JAM!”   

‘Oh I look good!  My husband is so so funny.  OMG, my friends Katie and G, are soo so funny.  Well, I think I am the funniest!  This ride is AWESOME!  I am in a friggin LIMO!  Drinkin' Champagne!  WTF!  This is..... 

‘Sure we can open that last bottle.  I am feeling GREAT.”

I only had what?  Four glasses?  That can’t be bad, look how skinny these glasses are?  

“OH we are HERE!  WOOO HOOO, it’s my BIRTHDAY!”

‘There is Cousin Steph and her funny, funny boyfriend. And Cousin Jeff and his camera!  MY BEST FREIND J and A!  OH More great friends K and D!  

“OH thanks, a shot? OH my I haven’t had a shot in years, OK!  Sure you can buy me a drink!” 

‘What is it? I am just gonna sit here his lap.....woops I am sorry I spilled that, WOA, better stand. OMG it is my fb blogger friend! I AM SO excited to see... WOW she is tall and sooo pretty and look at her hubby!  Wow they are pretty people. I can’t believe they came.....I am so happy to see...... WOAHhhh, I don’t feel so good.  What did I just say to them?  Am I making sense?...... I shouldn't be talking.... bathroom..... must..... get to.... bathroom..... 

“OH Hi, yeah I will be right out.”

‘Pee, once I pee I will feel better.  OH I should not have sat down.  Maybe if I just shut my eyes for a minute......  UH Oh someone is knocking... I am in here, be right out.... why won’t words come out of my mouth.  Oh NO!  I am going to hurl!  NO no no no!  Don’t open mouth..... NO no no no no!  I can hear voices of my friends J and D and my good friend M.  When did she get here?  She is talking to my new blogger friend.  OH NO! please don’t let the blogger friend see me like this..... NOnononononononononononononnoooo!  I can’t be this drunk!  I just got here!  Good GOD, what the fuck was I thinking? Katie, is that you?  Are you ok, did I just kick you? HUB is in the Bathroom.  OH THANK SWEET JESUS!  HUB Get me out of here! No, I can’t talk.  Let me just shut my eyes!  Is there a back door! ....Thank God you are here. No I am not ok...... stop telling me to talk! I am gonna ........I am so sorry I just hurled on your shoes!  OH NO, GET everyone out of here.  Did they see me hurl? Can’t I wait until closing?  I will be fine right here!  I swear.  NO I don’t need to go to the hospital.  I did NOT pass out, I am just tired!  I am so so tired.  OK yes, let’s go outside, I can’t bear to see anyone! Where is the zipper on these shorts? Please just get me home.  GET ME HOME!  Wait, were is the cute belt for my shorts?  Is there puke on me?  Who put my hair in a scrunchy?  OH NO, on the way out.  Please don’t anyone see me.... EVERYONE FRIGGIN SEES ME! How can they NOT see me I am climbing into a huge white LIMO!  Ah Limo, nice cool..... so much more comfortable.... shut the door..... hello darkness my old friend, I’ve come to talk to you again’

That was it.  Fin.  I awoke in my bed, at 2am wearing underwear and my adorable new blouse.   I sat bolt upright and looked around.  I was completely sober and a bit nauseous.  NO!!!! I did NOT just miss my party!  OH MY GOD! I JUST MISSED MY PARTY!  I SUCK!  I started texting apologies.  I got on facebook and started messaging apologies.  OH NO Did I kick my friend Katie in the bathroom?  OH NO The blogger friend.  She never met me in person until NOW!  I will never hear from her again!  Who else was there?  Everything was so fuzzy. My memory was not working!  

It turns out that I missed seeing about 12-15 people who came to see me!  I felt mortified!  Luckily most of them were old friends.  Many started out at St. Alice Grade school together.  It was a reunion of sorts, since we don’t get together like we used to.  Well it was a reunion for them.   It turns out St. Alice alumni are tight.  They were kinder to me than they ought to have been.  There has even been talk of a “do-over.”   All my friends texted, messaged or called me to tell me that although it sucked that I did not get to hang out with everyone, not to sweat it.  My friend Jim was the one to point out, the fact that I am NOT a drinker is actually a good thing.  My Best Friend J told me she loved me.  My good friend M and her husband J who drove an hour and did not even get to hang out with me, still like me!  OH and my blogger friend , one of the best story tellers I have read, messaged me saying not to worry! She is still communicating with me!  (Btw - read her blog) Another couple has already set up a date for dinner. How amazing are these people?  I can’t even begin to thank them.  

I now feel akin to unfortunate guys, who will remain nameless, who “finish” before they start, jump the gun, so to speak.   I am sure they are mortified and I understand their pain now.  I got pretty well tanked on the ride downtown in the limo. There is a reason for that. I am not a drinker. It only took about 4 glasses of champagne. Premature Intoxication, if you will.  There was no need to go any further, drink wise.  

My whole thought process was skewed:  

When would I have another opportunity to have a “no worries” night?  

When would be able to have fun with so many great people?  

How often do I get into the city that I miss being in?  

Let’s live it up while we can and party like we are 20 again! 

Wrong.  All. Wrong.  

Result: My reckless abandon, cost me a great night with great people and I am no longer 20.  

Moral of the story:  Build up a tolerance before a night of binge drinking!  NO, I am kidding.  Just slow your roll.  If my BFF J or my good friend M were in the limo with me, they would have put the hammer down.  The Hub should have done that, but he was as giddy as I was.  And although I was pissed at him for letting me drink so much, I did get him back by hurling on him.  He was also sweet and endearing when he squeezed into that tiny bathroom stall and stayed with me until I could get up.  

So for all you moms out there who are getting a “no worries” night out, prevent premature intoxication.  Enjoy it, ALL of it, but in order to do that, take it slow, backpedal, pump the brakes, and use the buddy system.  Friends don’t let friends who are 40 act like they are 20, no matter how good they look!  Mazel Tov!

Happy 40th

Forty..... FORTY?  Yes, F O R T Y!  Wow.  I guess it means different things to different people.  I go back and forth.  The thing that scares me is, I just turned thirty and then ten years happened.  That ten years went by fast.  So if the next ten years happens as fast.... Fifty!?  What?  

Ages twenty to thirty went by in a blink.  I can’t even begin to describe the changes from when I was twenty!   I can’t relate to that 20-something person!   I was stubborn beyond belief. I HAD to be right.  I lied to myself and others so no one would know who I really was, nor get past my guard. I went from an unhealthy long term relationship into a frenzied, multiple partnered, dating scene that would have made Lil Kim blush.  (See, Lil Kim was this rapper who was hot when I was....um... hot.) 

Then there was this guy, who casually put a D’Angelo CD in his stereo when I went to his apartment at 2am after a party.  He was calm, cool and in no rush.  I fell in love.  In REAL love, like a slap up the side of the head love.  We moved in together and I morphed into thirty.   

At thirty, we had just gotten married, had no children, were renting a townhouse and I was working full time.   Ten years later, here I am,  house/mortgage, 11 years of marriage, fertility treatments, miscarriage, births, home raising 2 boys, hospital stays, much laughter, car accident, selling Avon, dog, breakdowns, breakthroughs and little league.  

It seems like a whirlwind.  I made my life what it is, and I love my life.  I sincerely never thought that this kind of life was possible. I still hold a fear that it will all go away.  I can’t seem to get enough therapy to dispel that fear.  It is not an all encompassing one, just a nagging one that gets in the way at times.   

I am still very much in love with my husband.  He makes me laugh and I am still amazed watching him father our boys. My sons are the revelation of joy. Yes, there are times they drive me to tears.  There are times they make me bat shit crazy.  There are times I need to be away from them.  But for the most part, I am the happiest when I am with them.  I am so humbled that I am their mother and am raising them.     

Forty can be very liberating.  I have been through enough to know that no one, not one person in this world, can tell me what to do.  I answer to no one, except myself.  I make up the rules in my life.  Yes, there are responsibilities that I have and most I hold dear.  I chose to take on those responsibilities and since I am older I choose very carefully.   I still struggle with ideologies and theologies and philosophies. But I am enjoying the learning in that struggle. I am finding my way closer to Love, Peace and Light within myself. I have learned to not take things too personally or too seriously.   It is not worth the time and energy put into it.  I don’t want to be the cause of anyone else’s pain or even discomfort, but I do not feel the need to change who I am to accommodate someone else’s sensitivities. I will not be brought into drama, aggravation or ignorance.  I will respectfully walk away from them and wish them all the best.  

I do not look like I did when I was a young, firm, bounce a quarter off of it, 20 something.  I worked out then to look good to others.  I will work out now because I love my life and want to live longer.  I want to feel what my body is still capable of doing.  I want to lose myself in the practice of Yoga or Zumba, or dancing, or whatever physical activity I participate in.  I am not gray haired yet, although the white strands are slowly starting to turn into streaks.  My face is not wrinkled but is not as taut as it once was. My scars, stretch marks, saggy boobs and weak bladder are my battle wounds and I wear them with pride. With 40 I am realizing that I am not my hair or my face or my body or even my thoughts.  What I am, is a  beautiful, timeless soul and I need to treat myself and others as such.  I have been given so much in my 40 years.  I am grateful, humbled and astounded at my life.  This birthday is my 40th and I am happy.  

Institutional Cover-ups of Child Sexual Abuse - Can It Be Stopped?

http://macleodcartoons.blogspot.com/2011/11/penn-state-and-catholic-church.html

Do children matter?  In the larger society, do they have a purpose or a place?  I hate that I have to ask these questions.  But thanks to the Sandusky trial/Penn State scandal and the Msgr Lynn trial/Catholic Church scandal, I am forced to question.  What value do children have?  What is it about them that discredits their needs and protection? 

But as I write this, I realize a commonality between the two big cases I mentioned.  The cultures of both institutions have an all male hierarchy.  I am not a man hater.  I actually love the men in my life.  I even produced two future men.  And with that in mind, I don’t believe that any society can thrive or function without equally male and female leadership.  No institution that is powered by one gender can thrive and be complete.  The Catholic Church which is so powerful, has all men at the top.  The same can be said for large universities’ football programs.  These football programs are the lifeblood of these schools.  They bring in major profits to the schools and they are tax-exempt.  Money and power go hand in hand in both these institutions.  

I want children to be protected.  I want children to be safe.  I want children to be valued.  In these institutions they were not.  The men who allowed Jerry Sandusky to rape children for over 14 years, not only did nothing, but HELPED him continue to do it.  There is a very comprehensive article in The Philadelphia Inquirer here. The first line of the article says it all:

“Three days after Mike McQueary saw Jerry Sandusky molesting a boy in a shower in 2001, two top administrators at Pennsylvania State University had begun to craft a plan:They would not notify authorities.”

This instantly shows the callous disregard for the child who was raped.  Even if - and this is a BIG if - they thought it was just “horseplay” - between a 50 something year old man and a 10 year old boy, who were both naked and alone, showering together - Penn State officials had the duty, the right and the authority to report it to child protective services and the police. Or at the very least, try to find out the identity of the poor boy.  They chose to avoid scandal. (How’s that working out for ya?)  The paper trail is there, in black and white; Paterno knew, Spainer knew, Curley knew, they did nothing of value.  Not one of them worried about that scared 10 year old boy forced to be naked in the shower with a dirty old man.  Not one of them worried about the countless other victims.  They worried instead about the money. If they lost the money they would lose the power.  That very same power that they used to sweep the incident under the rug.  

Now Penn State is being punished.  Sounds about right.  Although, the students are taking a huge brunt of this scandal and that is not entirely fair.  The students or the football players for that matter, really have nothing to do with this.  Maybe we should stop having these huge for-profit, tax exempt, football programs that also provide college education.  Maybe college should be about learning and then we can allow the NFL and the NBA sponsor teams at the schools, like a minor league. Then the school can still have it’s big football and sell tickets to the game but the money goes to education, not recruiting and funding football.  I don’t know.  Maybe that is a ridiculous idea.  Maybe that is coming from someone who did not attend a traditional 4 year college.  I am just trying to figure a way to follow the money which leads to the power, which needs to be eliminated in order to protect children in large institutions.  

Msgr. Lynn was sentenced to 3-6 years for endangering the welfare of a child. Here is a very compelling letter to the judge regarding the case.  It is from Dr. Bob Fisher.  He was raped and molested by Fr. Avery in 1982. (Fr. Avery plead guilty of raping a 10 year old boy in the sacristy at St. Jerome’s Parish in 1999)  Dr. Fisher went to Msgr. Lynn in 1992 to make sure that no other child would be hurt by Fr. Avery.  He did not ask for money or retribution, or vindication.  He simply wanted to protect innocent children.  Msgr. Lynn did not help him to do that.  Msgr. Lynn was told by Dr. Fisher in 1992 that Fr. Avery was a child rapest. Msgr. Lynn hid that truth and then 7 years later, Fr. Avery was caught raping again.  

Hiding the truth is what seems to be the problem.  A prime example in going back to the Penn State case, is the University’s decision to remove the Joe Paterno statue. The decision was dumped onto the lap of Penn State President Rodney Ericksson.  The Board of Trustees did not want to make that call.  Nor did they want an OPEN and honest discussion of ways to handle the situation. So Penn State’s president said “take it down.”  Here is how they did it.  They went in, hidden in the dimness of an early Sunday morning, behind a large fenced off area, covered by huge blue tarps.  They draped the statue and removed it from its foundation and scurried it away.  Please people, don’t pay attention to the men behind the curtains.  Let’s just pretend this did not happen and the large 900 lb. statue was never there.  Isn’t that what started this whole thing?  Stop trying to “handle” situations and start dealing with them.  Deal with them in a public forum, out in the open, for all to see.  This was a big FAIL for the Penn State Board of Trustees.  

The problem as I see it, is the failure to expose the truth.  The hidden agendas that obscure people’s visions.  The dysfunctional family of the  “Brotherhood” of priests who chose to ignore their fellow brothers who touch kids.  The powerful bishops, archbishops and cardinals who put their flock on a “need to know” basis on everything from where our collection plate money is going, to where the new parish priest came from, to why a priest is being removed from ministry.   The power hungry pimps of athletes who use the talent of college students to further their careers and expand their revenue.  The power that comes from fame and wealth and “winning” that clouds judgement and distorts morals.   And finally all those who blindly follow and support these men after they are exposed for who they really are.  

Depression

Depression sucks ass.  I hate it with every fiber of my being.  It creeps up like a fucking python.  At first, it’s hug is a familiar comfort. It stays that way for long enough for me to be content with it and carry it with ease.  Then it ever so slightly starts to squeeze.  Not enough for me to be afraid, just a bit annoyed. As I walk with that annoyance it continues it’s patient and relentless tightening.  Meanwhile I am starting to realize that I am taking this annoyance out on those around me, followed by the heart wrenching guilt that they are suffering because of me.  Then, when I am tossing and turning at night or am busying myself so that I don’t have to face sleep, or when I am fighting back tears at commercials, it has me.  

My life - the one I worked so hard to get and even harder to keep - is slowly being squeezed out of me.  This is where the rage comes in.  This is where that filthy constricting snake angers me to no limit.  I start to hate. Rage. Panic. Hate. Everything is against me.  Everyone is against me.  Everyone I know and love has something I don’t.  Peace.  No one can see the snake.  No one can release it.  I unleash my rage on the inside, trying with all that I am, not to let it out on my loves.  I don’t want it to touch those I love.  I unleash my rage inside which is what the snake wants.  It feeds slowly off of this rage and grows.  It makes me it’s slave. It’s host.  As I unleash more rage and anger it grows and tightens and grows and tightens.  I need help. No one can know. No one will understand. I must be in control. I am losing. I am suffocating.  

I stop.  I sit.  I breathe. I recognize. I cry.  Let go of the anger.  It is not my fault.  I did not invite the beast.  I did not recognize it at first.  It is not my fault.  I will not allow it to feed on my anger.  I will no longer supply it.  

I stop. I sit. I breathe. I have so much going for me.  I am surrounded by beauty and love and acceptance.  This was not always the case, but it is where I am right now. I can not dwell in the past nor worry about the future.  I am here - now.  

I have the love of my life.  That love between he and I have created even greater loves.  Those precious ones are the most wonderful additions to my life.  They are happy.  They are healthy.  They are life.  They are deserving of all of me.  I am deserving of all of me.  Depression does not deserve even a morsel of me.  

I know I need help.  I remember that there is medication that helps.  I am supposed to take it every day and I have been forgetting.  The only time I don’t need to take it is when I am exercising every day and I have not been exercising.   

I stop. I sit.  I breathe. I take my 75mg of Zoloft.  I make a plan.  Even on vacation, I will exercise, even if it is just walking.  When I feel the anger, when I feel like I have to “correct” someone or something, when I feel the need to anticipate a problem, when I start to become complacent with the smallest tightening I will stop. 

I stop. I sit. I breathe.  I will not beat myself up if I don’t stick to my plan, but I will try.  

I will stop. I will sit. I will breathe. I will appreciate. I will feel the love.   


**Addendum: I have been receiving a lot of great feedback from this piece.  Thank you so much for all the love.  I must also add that in addition to exercise and medication I also have an amazing therapist.  I do not see her regularly, but I go in for "tune-ups" now and again.  I truly believe in therapy.  An independent, unbiased ear is essential.  Thank you all again for reading.**