I think we need to love one another harder. Not deeper, not sweeter, not with more confidence or faith. But harder, louder and with more gusto.
How to do that when the love faucet is on 24-7, and the well is threatening to run dry as the thirsty babies (all 3 of them) beg, open-mouthed, for more.
Habits developed in acts of innocent self-preservation become status quo. Retreat becomes comfort in contrast to the dissonance of attention. Locks need to be unlocked, but the babies, the babies, they are always on our jock.
Rusty bits and pieces rough starting each day. Annoyance is an easier gig than compassion, and the score is never settled. Even at day's end the specter of the need fouls the quiet. The click of the keyboard is the serenade.
There is love. Quiet and compact. Woven and tangled and sinewy from stasis.
Stretch, breathe, yell, laugh, fall. Shake, shake, shake it off. Breach the protective shell without scrambling the contents. Reveal, make raw, and heal.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Bragging rights
People compliment me all the time about the kids. In music class, at the park, in the food store, on the street. Its a regular thing. I would say normal, but its not really normal. My kids attract a lot of attention and no, its not normal.
Since Minna was little, I've been a bit perplexed as to how I should handle these situations. For some reason there is this unwritten, unspoken rule of public politeness that says that when complimented, we should do the following:
1. appreciate
2. self-depricate
3. reciprocate
So it goes a little something like this.
Them: "Oh my, your daughter speaks so well. She has an amazing vocabulary"
Me: "why, thank you" (1). "its great, but really, you just can't shut this girl up!" (2) and "your son just has the greatest hair" (3).
This bugs. Why isn't step one enough? Why can't I just say "thanks" or even (gawd forbid)..."I know, she was incredibly verbal from a very early age". I find that the three steps are particularly necessary with other parents of similarly aged kids. Try to get away with just step one and you'll find yourself ostracized to the outskirts of the playgroup.
So is it somehow bad/conceited/deluded of me to be pretty confident in the fact that my kids kick ass? I asked Dan about this once and he said..."well, I guess it depends on how much you think that reflects on you...." Well helltothefuckingyes I think that reflects on me. These kids have been my main focus for the past 6+ years (if you count trying to conceive and pregnancy, which I do), so yeah, I take pride in and take credit for their awesomeness. There I said it. My kids kick ass and I made them that way. Whether by nature or nurture, I (and of course all the other amazing people in their lives, particularly their father) kick ass at kids.
Before you get your panties in a wad at my outright conceit, let me just say, that I also take ownership of all the time they are Shitty McShitheads. Seriously. I aint saying they are perfect...yes the little one has zero table manners and the big one can't keep her hands out of her pants...Ok so the little one hasn't slept through the night more than twice in 20 months and the big one has a tendency to lose her shit when she doesn't get her way. BUTT BUTT BUTT...they are gorgeous, happy, affectionate, brilliant, capable, trusting, caring, funny, amazing kids and every ounce of what I have to offer has been funneled into these two beings with satisfying results.
So go ahead tell me how pretty, strong, musical, coordinated, sweet they are. I know and I'm happy to get the positive feedback. But oy, are they a handful at bedtime...and did I mention how I love, I mean really love, your kid's hair??
Since Minna was little, I've been a bit perplexed as to how I should handle these situations. For some reason there is this unwritten, unspoken rule of public politeness that says that when complimented, we should do the following:
1. appreciate
2. self-depricate
3. reciprocate
So it goes a little something like this.
Them: "Oh my, your daughter speaks so well. She has an amazing vocabulary"
Me: "why, thank you" (1). "its great, but really, you just can't shut this girl up!" (2) and "your son just has the greatest hair" (3).
This bugs. Why isn't step one enough? Why can't I just say "thanks" or even (gawd forbid)..."I know, she was incredibly verbal from a very early age". I find that the three steps are particularly necessary with other parents of similarly aged kids. Try to get away with just step one and you'll find yourself ostracized to the outskirts of the playgroup.
So is it somehow bad/conceited/deluded of me to be pretty confident in the fact that my kids kick ass? I asked Dan about this once and he said..."well, I guess it depends on how much you think that reflects on you...." Well helltothefuckingyes I think that reflects on me. These kids have been my main focus for the past 6+ years (if you count trying to conceive and pregnancy, which I do), so yeah, I take pride in and take credit for their awesomeness. There I said it. My kids kick ass and I made them that way. Whether by nature or nurture, I (and of course all the other amazing people in their lives, particularly their father) kick ass at kids.
Before you get your panties in a wad at my outright conceit, let me just say, that I also take ownership of all the time they are Shitty McShitheads. Seriously. I aint saying they are perfect...yes the little one has zero table manners and the big one can't keep her hands out of her pants...Ok so the little one hasn't slept through the night more than twice in 20 months and the big one has a tendency to lose her shit when she doesn't get her way. BUTT BUTT BUTT...they are gorgeous, happy, affectionate, brilliant, capable, trusting, caring, funny, amazing kids and every ounce of what I have to offer has been funneled into these two beings with satisfying results.
So go ahead tell me how pretty, strong, musical, coordinated, sweet they are. I know and I'm happy to get the positive feedback. But oy, are they a handful at bedtime...and did I mention how I love, I mean really love, your kid's hair??
Thursday, July 23, 2009
A lukewarm bowl of people soup
We have a love hate relationship with public pools. The kids love them and I, well, hate is a strong word, so let's just say they make me a bit queasy.
Growing up we rarely frequented public swimming pools. On Long Island, backyard pools were relatively common and while we didn't have one, it wasn't that hard to wrangle an invitation to swim at someone's house on a hot day.We also had the beach really close by and could get our swimming fix in the ocean or the bay. I have one memory of going to a public pool with my 3rd grade teacher, Mr. B., and that's about it.
In Portland, backyard pools are few and far between. In fact, when looking at real estate they are often considered more of a detriment than an added value. We don't know anyone with their own pool, and both kids LOVE the water, so we hit the public pools on about a weekly basis. When we had just one kid, Dan covered most of the pool visits. My experience with public pools in Portland was limited to the water aerobics class I took when pregnant with Minna. Me and ten other ladies rocking to the oldies and pushing around foam "bar bells" while the teacher yelled upbeat commands from the pool deck. Embarrassing.
But now we have 2 kids, so my draft card has been called and I have to report for public pool duty. Look, don't get me wrong, public pools are a great community resource blah, blah, blah, but the bottom line is that they are essentially a lukewarm bowl of people soup and that just grosses me out. Not to mention the pee. Yes, virginia, people (all people) pee in pools. If you tell me you have never peed in a pool, I will pretend to be impressed, but deep down I will know you are lying. I remember my friend Amy W. had a sign in her bathroom that said..."we don't swim in your toilet, please don't pee in our pool". Well, come on over Woytusik family, the water in my commode is just fine. I also remember this rumor at camp that if you peed in the pool a red cloud of would form around you. I tested it. I still do, but always in a group of people so if it did happen the culprit could not be readily identified. Red clouds never appear. But I do wonder why not? It seems like this would be easy enough to make happen. Probably because entire public pools would just be red from all the people peeing and trying to blame it on their kids or their friends... and swimming in a RED lukewarm bowl of people soup is just straight up nasty.
And then there is the poop. On my last visit to a public pool, some kid (I am really putting my faith in the public pool population here and assuming that the pooper was underage)dropped the kids off at the pool (see?? there is a reason for the saying) and set off a hilarious (if it wasn't so gross) procedure involving about 8 teenage lifeguards, a reeeeeeaaaaallly long pool skimmer, latex gloves, masks, and collection vessels. There were whistles, announcements nobody could understand and general confusion. Could we go back in the pool? Was the haz mat contained? Minna asked me why someone would poop in the pool, and as I was trying to come up with an answer, a life guard who had overheard the question said..."oh, it happens a lot...its because when people (little kids, please let it be little kids) sit on those water jets over there...things happen". Hmmmmm.... here's a thought....turn off the fucking enema jets people!
So are you feeling me now? I've not even mentioned all the humanity!...there are some seriously poor bathing suit choices being made out there and I really dislike the fact that I have to be subjected to this type of flesh display. C'mon sister, tuck that flabdomen in a one-piece, would ya? (yes, I have a flabdomen and yes, I practice what I preach). And gents, easy with the heedeous tats, ya dig? Teenage mutant turtles on the back and woody woodpecker on your chest? You are a cartoonish enigma and you are giving me a headache.
So, that's that. Public pools are my cross to bear until Dan either makes it big and we can afford a pool and a pool boy. or until I can convince the kids that the bathtub is really just as good despite the lack of enema jets.
Happy swimming.
Growing up we rarely frequented public swimming pools. On Long Island, backyard pools were relatively common and while we didn't have one, it wasn't that hard to wrangle an invitation to swim at someone's house on a hot day.We also had the beach really close by and could get our swimming fix in the ocean or the bay. I have one memory of going to a public pool with my 3rd grade teacher, Mr. B., and that's about it.
In Portland, backyard pools are few and far between. In fact, when looking at real estate they are often considered more of a detriment than an added value. We don't know anyone with their own pool, and both kids LOVE the water, so we hit the public pools on about a weekly basis. When we had just one kid, Dan covered most of the pool visits. My experience with public pools in Portland was limited to the water aerobics class I took when pregnant with Minna. Me and ten other ladies rocking to the oldies and pushing around foam "bar bells" while the teacher yelled upbeat commands from the pool deck. Embarrassing.
But now we have 2 kids, so my draft card has been called and I have to report for public pool duty. Look, don't get me wrong, public pools are a great community resource blah, blah, blah, but the bottom line is that they are essentially a lukewarm bowl of people soup and that just grosses me out. Not to mention the pee. Yes, virginia, people (all people) pee in pools. If you tell me you have never peed in a pool, I will pretend to be impressed, but deep down I will know you are lying. I remember my friend Amy W. had a sign in her bathroom that said..."we don't swim in your toilet, please don't pee in our pool". Well, come on over Woytusik family, the water in my commode is just fine. I also remember this rumor at camp that if you peed in the pool a red cloud of would form around you. I tested it. I still do, but always in a group of people so if it did happen the culprit could not be readily identified. Red clouds never appear. But I do wonder why not? It seems like this would be easy enough to make happen. Probably because entire public pools would just be red from all the people peeing and trying to blame it on their kids or their friends... and swimming in a RED lukewarm bowl of people soup is just straight up nasty.
And then there is the poop. On my last visit to a public pool, some kid (I am really putting my faith in the public pool population here and assuming that the pooper was underage)dropped the kids off at the pool (see?? there is a reason for the saying) and set off a hilarious (if it wasn't so gross) procedure involving about 8 teenage lifeguards, a reeeeeeaaaaallly long pool skimmer, latex gloves, masks, and collection vessels. There were whistles, announcements nobody could understand and general confusion. Could we go back in the pool? Was the haz mat contained? Minna asked me why someone would poop in the pool, and as I was trying to come up with an answer, a life guard who had overheard the question said..."oh, it happens a lot...its because when people (little kids, please let it be little kids) sit on those water jets over there...things happen". Hmmmmm.... here's a thought....turn off the fucking enema jets people!
So are you feeling me now? I've not even mentioned all the humanity!...there are some seriously poor bathing suit choices being made out there and I really dislike the fact that I have to be subjected to this type of flesh display. C'mon sister, tuck that flabdomen in a one-piece, would ya? (yes, I have a flabdomen and yes, I practice what I preach). And gents, easy with the heedeous tats, ya dig? Teenage mutant turtles on the back and woody woodpecker on your chest? You are a cartoonish enigma and you are giving me a headache.
So, that's that. Public pools are my cross to bear until Dan either makes it big and we can afford a pool and a pool boy. or until I can convince the kids that the bathtub is really just as good despite the lack of enema jets.
Happy swimming.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
as if
I were wearing a noose around my neck and some spiffy cement shoes, I feel like life has me on a short leash in the slow lane.
Out of complacency, fatigue, and lack of spark I find myself dwelling here. Going through the motions, keeping face, far more a voyeur than an adventuress.
Stuck between reality and fantasy. In a life that I can't get comfortable with, holding on to only the smallest sliver of aspiration.
I wish I could say it is just a bad day.
Out of complacency, fatigue, and lack of spark I find myself dwelling here. Going through the motions, keeping face, far more a voyeur than an adventuress.
Stuck between reality and fantasy. In a life that I can't get comfortable with, holding on to only the smallest sliver of aspiration.
I wish I could say it is just a bad day.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Getting to know me
Who am I? Long silence.
What do I do? More silence.
What's my deal, anyway?
The long and the short of it is that I am a 36 year old white chick and I am all about compromise. Part-time stay at home mom of 2, Part-time academic researcher; living in a major metropolitan area, but one that is clean, safe and as close to trees as it is to commerce; always either the big fish in a small pond, or a small fish in a big pond; committed, talented and smart enough to kick ass in an ordinary way with relatively little effort, yet dream of the extraordinary. Accepting of the fact that exciting dreams made to fit into an ordinary lifestyle tend to lose their form.
Hmmmm....thats some deep shit right there. That's not quite what I meant to write when I started this post, but there it is. Huh.
What do I do? More silence.
What's my deal, anyway?
The long and the short of it is that I am a 36 year old white chick and I am all about compromise. Part-time stay at home mom of 2, Part-time academic researcher; living in a major metropolitan area, but one that is clean, safe and as close to trees as it is to commerce; always either the big fish in a small pond, or a small fish in a big pond; committed, talented and smart enough to kick ass in an ordinary way with relatively little effort, yet dream of the extraordinary. Accepting of the fact that exciting dreams made to fit into an ordinary lifestyle tend to lose their form.
Hmmmm....thats some deep shit right there. That's not quite what I meant to write when I started this post, but there it is. Huh.
Monday, January 5, 2009
well fuckity fuck
Damn, I'm predictable. Here I am a year later. One post on this blog and a year's worth of shit still in my head. Seriously, could I be more cliche? New year, new resolve to write more....blah, blah, blah. It boils down to damn laziness really. I write some hot shit in my head....engaging, hilarious, honest shit. If there were such thing as a head to blog translator, I'd be all set. Famous, even. But there aint. So here I sit at a coffee shop (oy the cliche continues) all determined to put my thoughts into writing this year. I'm gonna roll with it while I can and we'll see what happens.
Next up: Introductions
Next up: Introductions
Friday, January 11, 2008
OPC (other people's capris)
After nearly a year of wearing nothing but elastic waisted garments, I recently got up the courage and strength to go out and purchase a pair of post-pregnancy jeans.
Buying jeans under any circumstances is torturous for me, but I had been dreading this particular shopping expedition especially. However, my 'just had a baby yoga pants' look was starting to wear thin and it was indeed time.
I chose the Gap for the sole reason that it was non-intimidating and the jeans wouldn't cost me the equivalent of my bi-weekly maternity leave check. I had (have) every intention of being far far to thin for these jeans in no time at all, so a major investment would be imprudent.
I managed to ditch an eager to help sales girl (this was a task I needed to approach solo) and stood before the wall o' jeans. My strategy was to find a style first and go from there. I started reading the titles of the offerings....'Long and Lean' - um, not even on my best day...'The Skinny Jean' - negatory....'The Boy Jean' - boys have neither hips nor asses of child bearing proportions now do they?....and then there it was, like a gift from the denim gods 'Curvy'. Thank you Gap for coming up with a pretty inoffensive title for the pants you have so kindly designed for those of us with some junk in our trunks. I guess 'Fat Pants' didn't go over so well in the focus groups.
So I check out the offerings in the 'Curvy' section and lo and behold, there is only one style. That style is pretty standard from the front, but turn 'em around and you'll find the revenge of the bones jones jeans designers who were probably aghast at having to design a pair of jeans for 'curvy' clients to begin with. Ass flaps. Yes, you know those cute little pocket flaps with the buttons? The ones that are totally ass enhancing? I did a quick check of the 'Long and Lean' and 'Skinny' styles, no ass flaps there. If I had more conviction, or time to go somewhere else I probably would have left at that point, but instead I soldiered on.
Next was size. This was a no brainer. It hurt to reach for the size 10s (double digits...ack!)but I knew this pain was far less than the pain I would go through trying to shimmy into my pre-pregnancy size. Progress! Now for the length. Gap offers three lengths in their jeans. Long. Regular. and Short? Petite? No,...Ankle.
Ankle? So, apparently, if you are a normal sized person looking for some ankle length jeans, the Gap has just the thing for you. Oh, and if you are a Shorty McShort Short, you can wear them too.
Completely beaten down, I took my selection to the dressing room, said a silent prayer to the powers of lycra and tried them on. You know what? They looked OK. Not bad at all...and as I stood there in my 'curvy' capris for tall bitches with the badonkadonk enhancing pocket flaps, I felt almost good.
Buying jeans under any circumstances is torturous for me, but I had been dreading this particular shopping expedition especially. However, my 'just had a baby yoga pants' look was starting to wear thin and it was indeed time.
I chose the Gap for the sole reason that it was non-intimidating and the jeans wouldn't cost me the equivalent of my bi-weekly maternity leave check. I had (have) every intention of being far far to thin for these jeans in no time at all, so a major investment would be imprudent.
I managed to ditch an eager to help sales girl (this was a task I needed to approach solo) and stood before the wall o' jeans. My strategy was to find a style first and go from there. I started reading the titles of the offerings....'Long and Lean' - um, not even on my best day...'The Skinny Jean' - negatory....'The Boy Jean' - boys have neither hips nor asses of child bearing proportions now do they?....and then there it was, like a gift from the denim gods 'Curvy'. Thank you Gap for coming up with a pretty inoffensive title for the pants you have so kindly designed for those of us with some junk in our trunks. I guess 'Fat Pants' didn't go over so well in the focus groups.
So I check out the offerings in the 'Curvy' section and lo and behold, there is only one style. That style is pretty standard from the front, but turn 'em around and you'll find the revenge of the bones jones jeans designers who were probably aghast at having to design a pair of jeans for 'curvy' clients to begin with. Ass flaps. Yes, you know those cute little pocket flaps with the buttons? The ones that are totally ass enhancing? I did a quick check of the 'Long and Lean' and 'Skinny' styles, no ass flaps there. If I had more conviction, or time to go somewhere else I probably would have left at that point, but instead I soldiered on.
Next was size. This was a no brainer. It hurt to reach for the size 10s (double digits...ack!)but I knew this pain was far less than the pain I would go through trying to shimmy into my pre-pregnancy size. Progress! Now for the length. Gap offers three lengths in their jeans. Long. Regular. and Short? Petite? No,...Ankle.
Ankle? So, apparently, if you are a normal sized person looking for some ankle length jeans, the Gap has just the thing for you. Oh, and if you are a Shorty McShort Short, you can wear them too.
Completely beaten down, I took my selection to the dressing room, said a silent prayer to the powers of lycra and tried them on. You know what? They looked OK. Not bad at all...and as I stood there in my 'curvy' capris for tall bitches with the badonkadonk enhancing pocket flaps, I felt almost good.
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