Glibbertysmidgeon

I realized this morning that raising small children is just like being in a zombie movie. They pursue you relentlessly all day and all night, and if you think you’ve given them the slip, it’s only because they’ve smuggled their breakfast into the living room so they could mash it into the carpet.
Instead of saying, “Brains, brains, brains” they say:

“You be Sully, I’ll be Mike”
“You be Diego, I’ll be Dora”
“You be the Mommy, I’ll be the baby”
“You be the pirate, I’ll be the parrot”

Which amounts to the same thing.

A few months ago, I wrote this:

What a shock, to look in the mirror. How did this happen? I don’t feel fat- I can still feel my skinny self inside all this puffy stuff. Why do all the Parenting magazines imply that you will get fit from chasing children? These babies made me fat! It’s as if my body wants to make sure I’m never tempted to eat the children. As if I’d know how to cook them.

One evening, after hours of shopping, Teresa and I left the mall with nothing but eye shadow and foundation. “Makeup always fits!” we cheered, though it had been a disheartening experience.

Today, I feel like a ninja.
At my last visit to the scale at the gym I’d lost 26 pounds. When I walk, I feel that ache in my backside that tells me I’ve had a good workout, and it makes me feel buff, even though I can see in the mirror that I still have a long way to go.

Two weeks ago I opened a bin marked ‘Skinny Clothes’ and put on a skirt. It fit perfectly. These were the big skinny clothes- from after Scarlett was born- not my skinny skinny clothes, but it felt like a triumph. A major triumph.

I just feel so thankful for this body.

Part One: Michael Jackson’s Mother

Walking the dog on a rainy morning, I am listening to adult music for a change. As I turn the corner Michael Jackson begins to sing, “She’s Out of my Life”.

Jackson’s clear young voice rings with sincerity, and as I sing along I picture the beautiful young man he once was. I can’t help imagining how I would feel if one of my kids created something so beautiful. A lump rises in my throat.

I think about things like this often, now that I’m a parent. Once, while watching this video of some high school students in a talent show, I actually got a tear in my eye, imagining myself in the audience watching Scarlett with her friends.

I wonder how Jackson’s parents feel now. Are they devastated by the turns thier son’s life has taken? Or are they too crazy themselves to realize their son has flipped his lid? If they do recognize his situation, how do they deal with thier own powerlessness to save him?

That’s one of the benefits of parenthood. This supersonic empathy, this expanded feeling of connectedness with mothers everywhere; even my own. With people, in general.

It’s also one of the curses. It tears my heart even to see a tired child crying in the grocery store. I can forget about watching the news.

Part Two: Shock and Awe

When I was pregnant with Scarlett I was amazed that every single person in the world had gotten here by coming through some woman’s body. I lived in New York City then, and I walked sidewalks teeming with people. It seemed impossible that so many women had signed up for this duty. Now that I’m raising two kids, my awe has grown expotentially.

Now, when I see a news story about somebody hit by a bus or killed in Iraq I am stunned by the magnitude of the loss. Somebody changed that boy’s diapers, taught him to eat solid foods, rocked him in a steamy bathroom at 4 a.m. when he had croup. Somebody helped that girl with her homework, joined the PTA instead of the country club, saved for her college education. Every single person walking the Earth represents a tremendous investment; worry, lost sleep, skipped movie nights, ruined waistlines, and depleted bank accounts are only some of the sacrifices somebody made for each and every one of us.

Part Three: Secret Parent Handshake

On Facebook tonight I watched a video of a friend’s new baby son. His first child. When forming my congratulations, I couldn’t help wanting to welcome him to to the club, to make some clever predicitions about how his life is going to change. I wanted to repeat the same cliched-sounding things other parents had said to me when Scarlett was born. How tired those things would sound to a new parent; someone with all his ideals intact, and all of his experience still ahead of him.

Why is there no secret parent handshake?

In the end, I wrote the only thing any new parent really wants to hear.
“What a beautiful little boy. Congratulations.”

What I thought was,
“What a beautiful hard journey you’ve started. I look forward to meeting the new you in a year or two.”

Part Four: Even George W. Bush is Somebody’s Baby

When we set out to have kids, I knew that parenthood was going to be hard work for me. I believed that, like every other leap of faith that I have taken, raising these kids would change me in ways I could never predict. That I would be a better person for having done it.

Look how much has changed already.

“Have fun at work, babe.”
The door closes with a hollow sound. I linger there, allowing myself a moment of despair. Then I straighten my back, lock the door, and put on my game face.

Snatching a banana on my way through the kitchen, I find Scarlett on the couch in the living room. Wagging the banana before her eyes, I sing,

“Eating a banana will make you toot!”

“Silly Mommy!” Scarlett turns to me with a smile. She takes the banana, and I am off to check on Owen.

The mornings are the hardest. From the moment I open my eyes (generally around 6:00, when Owen wakes up) I feel like I’m running in a relay race. Except I’m the only runner on the team.

And coming into the back stretch, it’s Patti. Patti is moving well, changing that baby, getting him dressed, and there he goes into the bouncer as Patti moves toward the closet. It looks like she’s going to get herself dressed- but wait, there’s Scarlett waking up. She’s calling her mom, she’s standing in her crib.

And here’s the handoff, Patti pulls a diaper out of a basket. She reaches out with the diaper and hands off to.. Patti!

It takes all of my concentration to dash from child to child to dog to dishes, to keep everyone fed, rested, exercised, educated, dressed, and entertained.

Occasionally, I think about the things I need for myself. A workout, a haircut. Time to write. Sleep. But with all the plates I’ve got in the air, it’s easy to let those things slip to the back of my mind- to forget about them long enough to get through another day.

The kids are sleeping, and my husband is playing Fable. I am choosing to ignore the laundry.
Is this free time? I can’t remember what it feels like.
I want to use my time to write, I miss writing so.

What to write?

Perhaps my blog isn’t the place for tonight. This is a place where I work through my thoughts.
I haven’t had time to form thoughts outside of “What will we feed Scarlett for dinner?” or “children’s museum or aquarium today?” in weeks.

I miss my mind.

The kids were in bed at 8:30, and by 9:00 I have walked the dog, tidied the kitchen, and showered. No matter how deeply deprived I am of sleep, to pass an entire day without doing one thing for myself seems like a colossal failure.

And so I paused on my way to bed to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and to type this entry.

Ding dong the witch is dead
the wicked witch
the wicked witch
ding dong the wicked witch is dead!

Today I feel like singing. Like something magical has happened, and the world will never be the same. To me, this wasn’t just a Presidential election, it was a moment in which Americans defined ourselves.

And, even though I think it’s better than great that we’ve elected our first black President, there’s a different aspect to this election that is just as magical for me.

For the past eight years I have watched my country fall under the sway of an evil witch doctor- an administration that used fear mongering to keep the population in line. The Bush administration appealed to the lowest parts of us- greed, fear, racism and hate to gain acceptance for thier illegal war, their tax cuts for the rich, their attacks on social services, their neglect of the poor, their rape of the environment.

In this election, Americans could have chosen more of the same. The McCain campaign was bathed in lies (Obama is an Arab terrorist about to raise your taxes and turn the country socialist!), racism, and fear mongering. The Obama campaign was all about accepting responsibility for the realities of our situation, and working together to solve them. It was about coming together and patching up the cracks that these past years have opened up in our sense of community, in our faith in government, and in our sense of personal empowerment.

On Tuesday, we chose to throw a bucket of water on that old witch.
On Tuesday, we stood together to turn this country in a new direction.
On Tuesday, we turned back into the America I’d always thought I lived in.

On Tuesday, I regained my lost faith in America.

When I sat down to watch the vice-presidential debate, I admit I was hoping to see Sarah Palin say something stupid. I’d seen the clips of her Couric interviews after the fact, but I wanted to see it happen live, in context. I wanted to think my own thoughts about it before hearing the pundits chew it over.

I was disappointed, but not surprised, when she didn’t say anything that was actually laughable. I knew that she’d been training for this debate, and that there were few landmines for her to step into. She had her notecards, and the moderators are not allowed to ask follow-up questions (such as, ‘Specifically, can you name some publications that you read?’). I wasn’t surprised to see that she employed the same tactics that the Bush administration has been using for years- if you don’t like the question, just ignore it and repeat one of your canned talking points.

When asked what her personal Achilles’ Heel, or major flaw was, she answered that she and John McCain were both mavericks and they were just what this country needs. It reminded me of the time George W Bush couldn’t think of a single mistake he’d ever made.

For the same question, Biden listed several flaws, and admitted that he is unlikely to change. I liked it, but that was one rare moment of pleasure in that debate. If Palin wasn’t going to entertain me with screw-ups, then I had hoped Biden would thrill me with his excellence. Instead, he spent much of the debate trying to out blue-collar her.

Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s important for our leaders to be able to relate to our issues. I’m tired of being told how tax breaks for the rich are going to make my life better. But I would rather see a qualified candidate tell me how his new health plan is going to help me out, and explain why, than watch them compete over who’s from the smallest town. If they’re good at their jobs, I don’t care where they’re from.

I expect my leaders to be smarter and more educated than I am. It’s embarassing to see them dropping folksy truisms (I’m talking about you, Joe Six-Pack) instead of giving substantive answers to these serious questions.

Even more embarrassing is that so many Americans eat that stuff up.
I heard on NPR that the McCain/Palin campaign has targeted a district in Maine because it’s woodsy, they have moose there, and snowmobiling is popular. Because Palin and her husband are snowmobilers, they expect to take that district.

I’m sorry?

Since when did duck hunting, snow mobiling, or any other hobby make you qualified to be president? And yet it seems to work. The local snowmobiling association (30,000 members strong) has endorsed McCain/Palin.

This does not make me proud to be an American.

I’ve got chocolate syrup on my ice cream and I’m wearing my comfy sweats. It’s debate night! I’m blogging live, while I watch the debate, which I pre-recorded earlier tonight.

First impressions:

Barack Obama is yummy.
Kris says, “young people will connect with him”. I say, “I’d like to connect with him!” He’s handsome, his voice is like butterscotch, and he has poise. Did I mention he has a nice voice?

Okay, the serious stuff. I’ve always had a soft spot for The Maverick, I thought he was earnestly trying to do some good in the days before he rolled over and started pushing the Bush agenda. My impression of him now:

Not Honest: He’s using the same tactics as his evil predecessors, he repeats himself constantly. Bend the question into an excuse to repeat the talking points. Or one of his dusty old war stories. His language is vague and he constantly inserts trite little comfort words.
Boring: I have a hard time sticking with him.
Condescending: One phrase he keeps repeating: “I don’t think Senator Obama understands…” He is smirking in a way that reminds me of George W Bush in the Kerry debates. It’s reptilian, and it’s revolting.
Clumsy speaker: On what we learned from this Iraq war… “you can’t have a failed policy that causes you to almost lose a war.” well… duh. He mispronounced Ahmadinejad, he misspoke about the Palestinian government. He stutteres. He doesn’t address Obama directly, no matter how hard the facilitator tries to make him do it. He seems threatened.

Impressions on Obama:

Thoughtful: He’s raised several issues- healthcare crisis and it’s impact on the average people. The need to get off foreign oil, the need to make our colleges affordable so our people can compete in science and math, on our country’s need to rebuild critical infrastructure to support future growth in the economy.. he is not just trotting out catch-phrases.
Poised: Obama is very clear and cool, he communicates his ideas very clearly without the huff and bluster that we’ve been watching from these Republicans for the last 8 years.
Too Polite: I want to see him kick some butt. Twice already he’s had McCain against the ropes and he didn’t go for the throat. (He briefly mentioned McCain’s “fundamentals of the economy are sound” gaffe, but seemed a bit uncomfortable embarassing the old guy. He didn’t press the point home.) C’mon man, we need this. I need this. I’d give anything for the opportunity to pin one of these guys down and slap the lips off him. You have to do this for us. Take one for the people on Main street.

At the end of the debate, Obama strode across the stage to shake McCain’s hand and I heard him say, “Good job, John.” McCain took his hand, but didn’t quite meet his eye. For me, this was the whole debate. McCain seemed cowed. He seemed to be striking out with the sort of panicked desperation of the geeky kid about to get a wedgie in the locker room.

Barack, my friend. Why didn’t you give him that wedgie?

I’ve started watching old episodes of Sex and the City during Scarlett’s naps. At first I was just looking for something short and light to entertain me while I eat, but I quickly got hooked. It’s not the characters, which are almost caricatures. It’s not the plot, which is basically the same thing every week. It’s not the dialogue or the music. It’s Manhattan.

The subtext of the show is a love affair with the city, and like the ex-girlfriend who still phones in the night, I’m not over it. I enjoy tormenting myself with nostalgia, dreaming about how great things used to be. As I watch Carrie stroll down the cobbled sidewalk in Tribecca on the arm of some faceless date, I think to myself, “she would not walk on the cobbles in those heels! They should have put the man on that side.” Oh, Manhattan, I know you like she’ll never know you.

Ah, the night life. The freedom to say to your companion, “See you later, I’ll get a cab.” and ditch them on any street corner… The shopping. The food. The stinking, crowded subways. Chinatown. I see now that I never appreciated you as I should have when we were together.

It’s all so familiar, but, as with many old loves, the distance makes it so much more exciting. I imagine how it would welcome me back into it’s noisy embrace. I could go tomorrow.

Then the baby kicks and I look down at my straining maternity blouse, stained with Scarlett’s breakfast. I remember that I left that old love because, for now, we’re not right for each other. I am too tired for night life, too poor for shopping, and too overwhelmed by parenthood to keep up with the blistering pace of life there.

Still. It comforts me. When I’m ready, I’ll be back.

“It’s really annoying, when you’re trying to fight one person, and someone else is punching you in the head”

~My slightly battered husband, describing his mugging which happened earlier tonight.

Shame on each and every one of you chickenshit commuters who stood and watched Kris struggle with two muggers without lifting a finger to help.

“I try not to watch Food Network while I’m on the treadmill.”

~John Tabbone
Before going on to describe Paula Dean making Turducken

Welcome to summer.

The first weekend in June, and it was 90 degrees today. After a visit to the park with Sophie, Kris, Scarlett and I had a nice brunch with friends and retreated to our air-conditioned living room to sweat out the humid day.

Late in the afternoon when the day had cooled, we had another little stroll in the park.

The rolling lawns of the Long Meadow were dotted with park blankets and barbecues. Frisbees criscross the air, and music from a sound stage under construction competed with the squeals of the children.

They had nearly finished putting up the movie screen when we left to come home and put Scarlett to bed.

Today is the beginning of the summer season at the park.
They’re playing Close Encounters of the Third Kind in the long meadow tonight, and the concerts at the band shell will begin running one or two a week.

At nine o’clock, the fireworks began. The blasts were so close the windows rattled, and I could feel the vibration in the floor.
Normally, I like fireworks, but tonight I”m listening with my mommy ears. All I could think was,

“Can’t they use quieter fireworks?”

I hurried to check on the baby, and was relieved to find that our loud new air purifier muffled the ear splitting cracks to dull thuds in Scarlett’s room.

After I was sure she was safe and happy sleeping through the storm, I couldn’t help thinking about how stressful small things like firetrucks, fireworks, and smoking neighbors have become. Then I imagined how it would feel if those crashes outside our windows were bombs instead of fireworks.

I’m seeing a lot of things differently since Scarlett came into my life.

“Wouldn’t it be horrible to have a baby and be in Iraq?” I said to Kris,feeling ill.

“It would be horrible to be in Iraq, period” he answered.

He’s right, of course.
Anyone with half a brain knows it’s bad in Iraq right now.

But it’s hard to feel it, in the midst of our busy, comfy lives with our hot running water and our convenience stores. It’s hard to empathize with people living in fear halfway around the world when American Idol is on.

My Mommy Eyes had given me a moment of that empathy.

It happens a lot these days.

I try not to collect things.
Once people find out you collect something, you get it for your birthday, your graduation, your anniversary. They begin to see your face whenever they come across the collected item, and then they stop waiting for occasions. The little treasures just start multiplying.

They take up space, and you don’t have any control over the quality or style of the items you recieve as gifts. Also, I try not to keep around a bunch of stuff I don’t use, and it’s my constant battle to keep the household stockpile down.

Still.

I am a bike collector at heart.
They’re so beautiful and fun and useful. I love to dream of owning the folding bike for commuting, and the traditional bike for shopping. I’d love a tandem for romantic rides with Kris. A recumbent would be a fun change- I can’t figure out how they start and stop without falling over, but I’d love to try it. Also, I’ve been longing for one of those little scooter things with a motor.
And a Vespa scooter.
And a motorcycle.

Today, I’ve fallen in love with the moederfiets or “motherbike.”

She’s terribly useful, but I’m afraid there’s not enough room in my whole apartment for her.

I looked in the mirror and realized I have become one of those TV makeover people. The before picture.

How did I let this happen?

I promised myself that if I ever became a parent, I would never become Ugly Sweatpants Mom. But there she was, staring back at me from the mirror.

There was a time when I could not imagine myself a mother.
A time when I thought motherhood was wiping up drool and flipping grilled cheese sandwiches with the sound of children’s television programming in the background.

Eventually, thanks to moms like Katie, I decided I’d be one of those moms who took time to ride a mountain bike.

That’s when I promised myself I’d never become Ugly Sweatpants Mom, and I’d never be one of those mothers with nothing to talk about but baby, baby, baby.

Um…

So! How ’bout those Democrats?

I am so lucky to have had family in the house, helping out for the first four weeks of Scarlett’s life on the outside. I don’t know how I could have fed myself or walked my dog, or gotten a shower without the two moms and my sister, who took turns staying with us.

Still.

Ingrate that I am, I did find myself occasionally looking forward to the day they would all be gone.

Despite all their help, it is always stressful having people in your house. I secretly started to yearn for the day when it would be just us… our little nuclear family going it on our own- ‘getting back to normal’.

But what is normal, now that Scarlett is here? Certainly it won’t be anything like it was before. Today is halloween. In the old normal, Kris and I would have gone to a party or a haunted house, or out dancing in costume. Especially since the weather is unbelievably nice today.

Hopefully, normal will be something more manageable than week six.

Today I opened my inbox and realized I have missed many important things since my last login, including a conference call for the real estate class I’m taking. It makes me feel a bit panicky.

On an average day in week six, I nurse, rock, pace, and learn to butter toast with one hand while the other holds a shrieking, thrashing infant. My neck and back ache from falling asleep sitting up.

Who am I? How did I get here?

It’s 11:29 a.m., and I’ve walked the dog, eaten oatmeal, and nursed for 3.5 hours.
I hold out hope for a shower.

Most times I look at Scarlett, sleeping, eating, or crying and clawing at my throat, and think, “What an adorable little treasure!”

Occasionally, I look at Scarlett and think, “What have you done with my life?”

There’s something powerful about the human voice. Something personal, and real, and revealing. This is why I love these radio programs.

In depth reporting that we don’t find on network television- though you can find it on the National Geographic channel, Discovery, or The Learning Channel.

Stories, in which I get to hear real people talking. Real monkeys fighting. Footsteps crunching on gravel.

Today I found something that every American should hear.

Interviews with prisoners at Guantanamo Bay. Comments by George Bush, Dick Cheney, and Alberto Gonzales. A history of the right of Habeus Corpus.

This is the kind of thing we should all be thinking about- the kind of thing we must all know as we are making our way through life.

While you’re washing dishes, folding laundry, or walking your dog, listen to Habeas Schmabeas.

“I think The National Anthem ought to be sung in English. And I think people who want to be a citizen of the United States ought to learn English”

George W. Bush, speaking about the new release of the National Anthem, performed in Spanish, by a collection of Latino pop stars.
The song’s producers say the song is an expression of patriotism from the Latino community.

“Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety.”

~Benjamin Franklin, 1755

The icicles are lovely,
My steamy breath is nice
the windows look so pretty
dressed up in lace of ice

I’m saving lots of money
preserving frozen food
my houseplants are surviving
but in a rotten mood

I wake up every morning
so glad to go to work
because my cube’s so toasty
The heat’s a handy perk

but sometimes I envision
my home, a comfy den
I’m cold when I am outside
But warm when I am in

Will we be getting heat in the building anytime soon?