Fresh Mouth

Apparently it's normal for 4 years old to have a fresh mouth.  However, I feel that Leah's is super fresh. 

Supa fresh.

I spoke to her teacher today about it and she told me that it's important for Leah to understand that failure to listen to mom and dad and/or fresh mouth will result in losing fun stuff. 

For Leah, the absolute worst thing you can do to her is not allow her play outside with her friends.  OH MY GOD THE HORROR OF HAVING TO STAY INSIDE WHILE ALL THE FUN IS GOING ON OUTSIDE WITHOUT HER!

This week has been particularly trying for us and each night has brought a special kind of hell that has made us re-think the decision to add to this family, despite it being way too late.

Tonight Greg is working late so it's going to be just me and Leah from 3:30 p.m. on.  I am hoping that the rain stays away so we get some outside play after school.

And other than that, I am hoping that my 4 year old doesn't reduce me to tears with the fresh mouth.

A Little Rusty

I'm a week into my new gig of non-working, pregnant mother and I still feel like I need to make sure my day is filled with a list of tasks to complete before I pick up Leah at 3:30.

I'm also having a hard time figuring out what is my job (role, responsibility, whatever) as a SAHM and what, as a pregnant woman, I am justified to ask Greg do...ok, demand Greg do...ok, be disappointed and sigh dramatically when Greg doesn't do it automatically.

Also, if Greg works from home, do I still need to cook dinner if he totally has the time to do it?  If he has a slow day and doesn't have much to do am I still obligated to wash all dishes?  Yes, he's technically the bread winner and I'm technically the homemaker, but does that mean he doesn't touch any task related to homemaking anymore?  Does it really mean that I work from sun up to sun down at my new job while his is over at the end of the workday?

Am I overthinking this?

In other news, yes, I've been gone and this blog has been neglected.  I'm not certain if I'm back for good so forgive me if I don't pretty it up immediately.

The Finish Line

Again!

It wasn't easier.  But I trained less this year.  And I gave myself permission before the race to walk if I needed to.  But I guess I never really needed to, because I never stopped to walk.

It was different this time.  I wasn't doing something for the first time.  I wasn't at the brim of tears for achieving something I worked so hard at.  It wasn't as emotional.  I didn't have as much riding on it.  I was just doing something that I now do each year and am really proud of myself for doing.

I shaved a couple of minutes off of my time from last year, but I am not really concerned with time.  When I am running the 5K, I only care about finishing.  (Said like a true slow runner.) 

And, as always, there is no better feeling than the one that you feel when you see Mile Marker 3.  Because that means there is only .1 left.  And that .1 is the easiest running you'll ever do.  It's the type of running that you can do while holding your daughter's hand and smiling.  It's feel-good running, and I wish I could capture that feeling and bottle it and use it in other aspects of my life.

This year has been different than the past few.  I can't say it's been great, but it's been better.  Life without my mom has always been a journey, I've said that before, but there have been times where I've seen the metaphorical Mile Marker 3.  Where it's not only no longer a burden to go on, but a joy.  There have been times where I've been living in the .1--me: pessimistic, sarcastic Dana, seeing mile 3, moving faster, grabbing my kid's hand, smiling, smooth moving for the last bit of the race, happy to finally cross the finish line.

We Found Love In A Hopeless Place

Yellow diamonds in the light

And we're standing side by side

As your shadow crosses mine

What it takes to come alive

 

Shine a light through an open door

Love and life I will divide

Turn away cause I need you more

Feel the heartbeat in my mind

 
 

Life Goes On

I left home at 17 and went to college in Boston.   It was there that I wore baggy jeans and Simple sneakers, gave up red meat for a year, stopped believing in God, questioned authority, and realized that if you don’t like something in your life it’s up to you to change it.

I returned to NJ after graduation and moved in with my parents.  My dad expected me to follow his rules, after four years of following my own, and so I moved out at 21 and got myself an apartment. 

It’s been my way or the highway ever since.

Don’t like my job?  Get a new one.

Don’t like my weight?  Change it.

Don’t like my house? Move.

Losing my mom has been the only thing that I have not been able to change.  I don’t want to be motherless.  I don’t want to raise children without their grandmother.  I don’t want to not have her here when I need her.  But I can’t change any of that.

That’s why I started this blog.  I was looking for a way to cope with something that I could not change.  All of my life I’ve been lead to believe that I am in control of my own happiness, and here I was, not happy and not able to change it.  I felt stuck.  I wanted my mother here and there was no way to make that happen and therefore, I would never be happy again.

I was wrong.  But I didn’t know it.  It took time.

For the first few years after her death, I felt like I was walking through a dark tunnel.  I was trying to get to the end, walking aimlessly with my arms out, reaching for anything that felt familiar, trying to figure out how to get out of this dark hell.  Every once in a while I grabbed a hold of something that brought me comfort-- a hobby, an achievement, a memory, a good time—and I thought, “Ok, Dana.  Move towards that.  That’s the right way.”  But then there were times when my eyes refused to acclimate to the darkness, and I lost hold of that good feeling, and I continued on my dark trek through the tunnel. 

Lately, however, the tunnel hasn’t been that dark.  It’s actually well-lit.  There are paintings on the wall and friends at every corner.  The ground is carpeted and the bathrooms are spotless.  The tunnel isn’t even a tunnel.  It’s a wide residential street with large leafy trees.  It’s a sunny day.  It’s jacket weather.  My daughter is riding her bike next to me.  My husband is holding my hand.  My dog doesn’t want to eat other dogs.  My daughter doesn’t have a potty mouth.  Greg isn’t lecturing me about leaving my purse on the kitchen counter.  I make a stop at Weight Watchers-I’ve lost 10 lbs this week!  How awesome.  Suddenly I’m jogging down the street.  I’m waving to people who are here to cheer me on.  My family is holding up signs.  My dad is smiling.  My sister is running next to me.  I’m the winner of the race.  The ribbon breaks against my stomach and I get a trophy and I’m laughing and we all break into a flash mob to Jessie J.’s Domino.

Maybe I can change this situation.  Maybe bringing my mother back is not the only way to be happy again.

Cousins

Our holiday weekend was low key, which, as I get older and more exhausted, is exactly how I prefer them.  On Monday, we went to an indoor BBQ at my dad's, due to the rain, and Leah got to play with two of her favorite people, Matthew and Bella.

Bella is getting so big--she's almost one--and I when I saw her and Leah playing this weekend I got a glimpse of what the future might be like when those two get together.

It included bail money.

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Sorry About That

I did not mean to take a vacation from this blog.  It just happened.  Kinda like the earthquake.  And then the hurricane. 

There's nothing new to report, really.  I still run, loosely follow Weight Watchers, lament over Leah's behavior.  For a couple of days last week, there were actual times that I didn't want the world to open up and swallow me while dealing with sticky Leah situations, but then Friday night turned out to be the worst yet behaviorally-wise, and we are back to some days sucking and some days not sucking.

We fared okay through the storm yesterday, only losing power for 6 hours and having some downed tree branches and closed roads today.  I've lived through quite a few hurricanes and the only thing that truly worries me are falling trees.  I mean, if there's water flooding my house I have time to get out and I know how to swim.  You don't have time to move out of the way of an enormous tree falling on you.  Because you're dead.

So, on that note, I leave you with an idea how yesterday went when we didn't have power for 6 hours.

Exhibit A: The face a kid who gets to watch TV makes.

Exhibit B: A face a kid who is told there is no power therefore no TV makes.

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Age of Non-Innocence

Dear Age Three,

You are cordially invited to kiss my ass.

I cannot believe how freaking crazy you are turning out to be; how I want to kiss you with tongue one minute and taser you the next. 

You now know my name is not just Mommy; you heard people calling me Dana, and you figured it out.  So now YOU call me Dana. 

You ask me if I'm kidding you (no), if I'm serious (yes), if I'm for real (yes), and if you can have candy (no).

You don't push my buttons, you rip each and every one out of my body with your cold sharp nails and then you stomp on them, beat them with a stick, set them on fire and then smoke the ashes.   My buttons are shot.

You know everything, and it bothers you that I don't always agree.  {Editor's note: This one might be my fault.  I have a psych degree with a self imposed focus on child psychology.  Back in the 90s we were taught to treat the child like a real person, rife with choices.  Allowing your child to decide which shirt she was going to wear to pre-school would help her to say no to drugs as a teenager. (?? whatevs) As a result, Leah's grown up thinking she's an equal part in this family--someone who has the same say in all family decisions.  Au contraire, Carol Ann, this is my mine and your father's house and we follow my our rules, and I am we are in charge and I we make the decisions.}

Oh, Age Three, you are a sexy beast.  With your funny little conversations and your cute little faces.  And your propensity to throw your backpack at me and hit me when the mood strikes.  You are wonderful with kids that are younger than you, acting like an old grandmother who plops you on her lap and pinches your cheeks.  And you love to hang with the older cool kids, leaning up against the garage smoking and cussing.

You are pushing your boundaries right off the map and I am constantly re-etching the line in the sand.  I fight back and I lose.  I let you walk over me and I lose.  I attempt to stand up to you and we are two chaps from the wild west at a showdown in the Alamo.  Oh, and I always lose. 

You are a steamroller in a tutu--a Zamboni in lip gloss.  I grow four grays each time your teachers tell me you're an angel.  Most days I can't wait to get home to see you and most Mondays I skip to work whistling a tune.  

Age Three, you drive me to drink.  And I am trying to drink you in.  I am told that you're the toughest, until she's a tween, which has been likened to age three with hormones. 

I was told that parenthood was hard, and it would be the toughest road I've ever traveled.  And I arrogantly nodded my head and rolled my eyes and thought there is no way that something that is a half my height and like a sixth of my weight will even be a blip on my life-radar, let alone uproot my life and leave me a confused, befuddled, frustrated shell of my former life.

And yet, here I am.  Eating some humble pie.  Baffled at just how difficult parenthood is.  How the one thing that drives me up the wall and out of my skull is the one thing I'd give my life for without a second thought in a hot flat second.


Up Yours,

Dana


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My Little Baby, No More

I purchased some bathing suits on sale for Leah for next year.  I bought a size 4T.  They might as well have come from that Justice store because they look enormous.  I can't imagine, that next summer, in 12 short months, Leah will be wearing those bathing suits.  They are just so damn big and I don't want her to fit into them.  I mourn for the baby she once was and attempt to remain optimistic for the girl she is turning into.



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Friday Night Sights

Ah, it's that time of year again.  The time when the families of Sparta gather on the field on Friday nights to listen to music and frolic and dance the night away.

Or, more like the parents get to sit down and have a drink and allow their kids to run around like lunatics for a few hours with some music in the background.

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The Fairy Princess and The Wicked Witch

Lan and Baby Tai Yu came to visit over the weekend and, in addition to going to Costco and the parade and hanging in the back yard by the pool, we played a little dress up.

Leah and I got a kick out of this.  Baby Tai Yu--not so much.

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Listen

Please listen to me, you need to listen to me.

No whining, no throwing, no crying,

I'm tired and I have a migraine,

and you need to listen the hell to me.

When I ask you to clean up your room,

or to come and set the table.

All I want you to do, is to eventually stop what you're doing,

and just listen the hell to me.

Your father and I have a feeling,

you might be an alien.

You scream for no reason and freak out all the time.

Oh, and you never listen the hell to me.

I like that you make your bed,

and it's great that you can dress yourself.

Now stop hitting the dog with your shoe,

and just listen the hell to me.

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Going To The Mazoom

Today was Leah's last day of school and parents were invited to attend an end of year party.  Greg and I both took the day off.  The plan was to head into NY after school and have lunch, walk through Central Park, and maybe end up at the Museum of Natural History.

And then a monsoon hit NJ.

So, we headed to the Children's Museum in Paramus.  Not as cool as the AMNH, but fun nonetheless.

Thoughts

I think of my mom every day and probably will forever. Sometimes it stings and sometimes it doesn’t. I know that they say that if something doesn’t hurt then it no longer means something to you, but I don’t care. I’d rather be able to think of my mom and not have it hurt. I’d rather it just be a thought in my head, along the lines of “buy pull ups” and “dvr Glee.”




Marco, Adriana, and I took my dad out for brunch on Sunday. Afterwards everyone came over to my house to swim. Marco threw everyone in the pool. The family raft was a big hit. Bella fell asleep in the stroller. I made pastina and then ordered pizza. We sat in the shade. Greg kept changing the station. Leah screamed “god bless America” like a mad patriot.



And I didn’t really think of my mom. And it was such a good day.



Yesterday was a good friend’s birthday. Happy Birthday, Gabrielle. Sorry you missed out on your birthday party.

Wordless Wednesday

A Good Weekend

Despite not food shopping and having nothing more than three pickles and some barbecue sauce in my house, and despite not doing even one of the eighty loads of laundry awaiting me in the basement, we had a really good weekend.

I had some much needed girl time and got a lot off my chest.  And I got to spend an entire Sunday with only my husband and my daughter and not one single solitary committment other than being together.  We haven't had a Sunday with only each other in a very long time, and I really enjoyed it. 

Despite the raging hangover after drinking 24 points of wine (!!), I had a really good weekend.

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Le Weekend

Hmm, where shall I start?

Gymnasties on Saturday morning.

Followed by marshmallow roasting at night.  (Oh, it was just soo much fun not eating these since I had completed my daily points intake for my stupid diet.  Er, I mean lifestyle change.)

A little cuddle between Mommy and Baby...

Followed by Matthew's birthday party on Sunday.

Mmmm, cake.

And we rounded out the weekend checking out the swing set at Adriana's new condo complex. 

Two feet up!

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Eff the Recession

THE THIRD AND FINAL THIRD BIRTHDAY PARTY



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A Week of Firsts: Greg

Greg started his new job on Monday, and it's going great!  He is in the training period right now, which apparently requires one to be at work at 11 a.m. and be done for the day at 1:30 p.m.  How nice for Greg, while his wife pulls 12 hours days out of the house! 

He is excited to start the actual selling that the job entails and so am I.  1) I like money, 2) I like to see Greg happy, and 3) I like money. 

When I started this website Greg was all I want my own page, put this picture up of me, oh, get me from his angle, however, recently he's been quite modest and no longer allows me to plaster his picture up all over this place.  So, right about here is where I would plop a picture of Greg in this post, but instead, you get the cartoon character that best sums up Greg.

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A Week of Firsts: L.P.

Leah started school today.  A little earlier than first planned, but since Greg's new job has regular 9-5 hours, we needed to put her in full time starting now, rather than in September. 

She did really well!  No crying, no accidents, and from what her teacher reported, she played well with other children.

Leah reported that Jacob hit a little baby after he got up from nap.

Wish us luck on Day Two!

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