My mother and I were not close. She was not the mother that I needed and I was not the daughter that she wanted.
My mother was not a hugger, not a gusher. She seldom kissed me or complimented me. She was quick with ridicule, criticism, once announcing before a table of relatives at a wedding that the outfit I wore made me look "pasty." She told me when I was eighteen that while she loved me, she didn't really like me.
I nodded and kept on drying the dishes that she handed me. I had asked for it, asked her if she would miss me when I left for college. She had answered honestly that no, she would not really miss me, that she had always thought me a strange girl, a child with her head in the clouds and way too much imagination. So, it wasn't until the last dish was dried that I ducked my head and went up to my bedroom to sit on the bed and look up at the ceiling, blinking back tears. My mother and I never showed much emotion around each other. She thought it weak and I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of finding even more things wrong with me.
My mother was a believer in spanking to teach, in non-negotiations with teenagers and in withholding affection when one of her children messed up. She also was the strongest, most willful woman that I knew. I pitied the buzz saw that took her on. She spoke her mind and didn't sugar coat a thing. Ever. She could be counted on at all times to be honest.
After I left for college, I only came home for Christmas and Thanksgiving. I admit that I even disliked doing that. I enjoyed seeing my sisters but I often felt smothered by mother's opinions. When I was a junior in college, I came home for Christmas in bad mental and physical shape. I was recovering from a long bout of pneumonia and had recently broken up with a girlfriend, so I looked and felt pretty awful. The worst of it was that I couldn't talk about my pain over the break up with anyone in my family because no one knew that I even had girlfriends. I was, as they say, in the closet.
One night, I couldn't sleep. Every time I tried to lay down, the mucus would accumulate in my lungs, threatening to strangle me. I tried sitting up in bed but finally trudged downstairs with the idea that I would get a drink of water to help loosen up my chest. As I walked into the kitchen, I saw the Christmas tree lights twinkling in the living room. Strange, I thought. Everyone should be in bed and my mother was not the type to forget to turn off the Christmas lights.
I peered into the living room and found my mother sitting at the end of the sofa. All of the lights but the tree lights were off and she was sitting in the soft glow running a rosary through her fingers. My mother often prayed for the poor unbaptized baby souls in purgatory.
Shyly, I stepped into the living room. A cough burbled out of me and I tried to stifle it with little luck. My mother looked up and patted the place beside her. I was too surprised to even think to decline. To my knowledge, she had never asked me to sit with her before. I let myself have a good cough first and then I sat down gingerly next to her. I asked her if she couldn't sleep. She replied that no, she couldn't. So, she said, she had decided to put her idle to use and pray for yes...the poor souls in purgatory. We didn't talk, then. I sat, content as a cat next to her, watching her fingers move over the rosary beads and hearing her soft whispers of Hail Marys and Our Fathers. At last she finished. She set the rosary into her robe pocket and took my fingers in her hands.
"Your hands are cold," she commented. "Cold hands, warm heart." I smiled but didn't answer.
"Go into the bathroom and get a hairbrush," she instructed me. I did this. She had me sit down on the floor in front of her legs and she began to brush my hair. I sighed in relief at her gentleness. My mother was not known for her gentle way with a hair brush. She yanked snarls relentlessly when I was a child, attacking them and popping us on the head with the brush if we cried, told us that girls must learn to have hard heads because snarls were a huge part of life. Either my hair was in good shape or she was feeling kinder than usual.
She brushed and brushed. And then brushed some more. I was dozy from the gentle, hypnotic stroking. I felt myself shiver when she leaned down and gently hugged my shoulders to her in an almost tender caress.
"You have pretty hair, Maria," she told me. "Always keep it this pretty by brushing 100 strokes per night. A soft, shining head of hair is a gift that a woman gives to her husband. A good head of hair might even keep a man from straying."
I didn't bother to answer. What could I say?
"Guess what, Mom! I don't think I will ever share my hair with a husband. And oh, by the way, I lost my virginity 2 years ago and I am almost certain that I am bisexual."
Not the time. Not the place. Maybe never the time or place.
Instead, I tentatively reached up and took her hand and kissed it. She started and then leaned down and kissed the top of my head.
"I am your Mother," she said then. "I am your mother and because you came out of my body, we share a string. It links us and will link us through good times and bad. Always remember that, yes?"
I said that I would. And I felt the memory burn itself into my mind storage. I felt love for my mother infuse my blood vessels, fill in all my cracks and gullies.
Four years later, I would come out to her and she would disown me. She would vow to never speak to me unless I saw a priest and begged forgiveness for my sin of depravity. She would die when I was 35 having never let me back into her life.
The pain of that would cut a deep ache through me for years and years. Maybe forever. I would have a daughter of my own and instead of making me understand my mother more, it made me feel even farther from her. I would look at my honey haired daughter, sometimes sitting with her in my lap as I brushed her hair and I would know that there was no way for me to ever cut her out of my heart. My love for my child would be my ballast, my source of endless joy and peace. I could not imagine not loving her completely unconditionally. I would not be anything like my own mother, but in most ways, her opposite. I would never spank my child, say I loved her frequently and be so generous with hugs and kisses that she would never know a day without them.
But, for that moment, sitting at my mother's feet on the floor in front of the soft, old fashioned big bulbs in primary colors on the Christmas tree, I would feel the string in my hand that extended to hers.
I would never forget it.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Thursday, November 25, 2010
And a Happy Thanksgiving to you, Mr. Baby Stealer
This is me on the phone with Liv's Father, Tinton this morning
Background: It is 8 FUCKING A.M. and I am barely awake but when I saw his name on the caller id I took the call figuring that he wanted to wish us a Happy Thanksgiving.
ME: Hi, there. Thanks for waking me up, loser.
Tinton: Shit. Sorry. I forget that some lazy bitches stay in bed until ten on holidays....
We do the chuckling thing. We can banter like nobody's business but there is something in his voice that bothers me.
M: So...how's things?
T: Well, not great, Ice. (he calls me Ice because I am so warm and fuzzy and all that shit) Vicky broke her leg this week when she was trying to wrangle a dog to the vet.
Background: Vicky is Tinton's long term, long suffering girlfriend. They have been together for many years. She lives in Denver and breeds and sells Scotties. She gave us Socks so I am eternally indebted to her. I don't like or dislike her. She is sort of an earth mother type, reminds me of a young Joni Mitchell. Kind of looks like a young Joni too. She is long suffering because Tinton is never home, he travels a lot for his job and she sees him infrequently but they somehow manage to work it out.
M: Oh, dear! I am sorry to hear that? So, she is probably going to have to hire some help for all that dog breeding stuff, huh?
T: Well, I'm here and I told her that I'd take 6 weeks off until she gets her cast off and help out. So...
M: Oh. So. You won't be here for Christmas?
T: No. She planned to spend it in Vermont with her parents like she always does, but she is gonna skip it this year and it will just be us two. And um...well...let me run something by you, sweetcakes...
My blood instantly goes cold. Shit. DO. NOT. SAY. THIS.
A long silence. Tinton finally asks if I am still there. I say that I am.
T: We were thinking...that maybe....well....that perhaps Liv could spend Christmas here with us. Now wait. Before you blow a gasket, just think about this logically, ok?
M: Okay...
Background: Bing is now sitting up in bed looking at me because I have gone rigid and when she reaches out to touch my back, I jump out of bed because I absolutely do not want to be touched right now. And that is when I realize that my knee has swollen up to the size of a grapefruit overnight and I can barely stand on it. Shit. Fuck. I wobble to a chair and sit down hard. Bing says nothing, just watches me.
T: Maria? It isn't far. Just Denver. And I think she would have fun. You could ship all her gifts to us....we would have a big holiday dinner for her. I...just...can...you just think about this? I won't say a word to her until we talk this through, okay?
M: Okay....
I can't talk. Fuck. I can't think.
Liv comes in then and whispers, "Is that my Dad?" I nod and she runs to me holding out her hand for the receiver. I give it to her. I sit and watch Liv curl up on the floor, bubbling up into the phone, going on about this and that and this new book that she is reading and how much she misses him and she cannot wait until Christmas. They talk for ten minutes and by that time my mind is made up.
I have to at least give her the chance to decide for herself. And I have to be careful. I have to not make her feel guilty.
Liv gives me the phone back and she and Bing go downstairs to turn on the Macy's parade. I take a deep breath and speak.
M: Ok, Tinton. I will ask her if she wants to spend Christmas with you and if she says okay, it is fine with me.
My voice sounds nothing like my heart feels.
Tinton is thrilled and says to call him back when I know. I agree and we wish each other a Happy Thanksgiving and hang up.
This is me talking it over with Bing.
B: FUCK THIS SHIT! NO. NO. Just no, Maris. She belongs with us on the holidays. Are you insane? He had her all summer and I was worried sick about you. You were so sad. No, honey. No.
M: She is old enough to make up her own mind, Bing. He is her Father.
B: Where the fuck was he for the first three years of her life then?
M: He was off growing up. He was only 23 when she was born, Bing. That can't come into my decision anyway. He is here now. That is what counts.
I am sort of amazed at how calm I am. Bing shrugs and hugs me. For once I don't try to be strong and I let myself sink my head on her shoulder and let her hold me and rock me a bit. She gently leads to me a chair, tells me that she will bring me a bag of ice for my knee so that I can ice it until we have to leave for my sisters. She asks if she should send Liv up to talk to me. I say yes. She kisses me long and slow and deeply and holds my head in her hands. We put our foreheads together for a beat and then she leaves.
This is me talking to Liv.
M: Come sit next to me. I have something I need to talk about with you, honey.
Liv does this. I tell her about Vicky's broken leg, how Tinton can't come for Christmas because he needs to stay and take care of her. Tears well up in her eyes. She reaches for me and I pull her in my lap. She is such a sweet girl, she carefully avoids sitting on my swollen knee. I pat her back and she says that she understands but that she is sad. Because she loves him and will miss him. But, yes, that is very sad about Vicky too. I tell her that her father had an idea that I'd like to share with her. She looks up.
M: He wants to know if you'd like to spend Christmas with him and Vicky this year. In Denver.
Liv sinks back. Looks at the floor, thinking. Finally she looks up.
L: But, what about you, Mama? What will you do for Christmas?
I tell her that Bing and I will have a very happy quiet Christmas, just the two of us. I smile and remind her how much Bing hates company and how she will be so happy to have a nice quiet house. But that Bing is not thrilled about her going away to Denver and I would miss her so very much too, but I will understand if she wants to go. I know that she doesn't get to see her Father enough and she gets to see me all the time.
L: I think...I think...I would like to go, Mama. I mean...I've been thinking that I should meet Vicky sometime anyway. She may be my step mother one day....
I feel a sharp PING in my heart at the word MOTHER being in any sentence about Liv that does not mean ME.
Liv goes on...
L: But, I don't want to be away from you, really. And I know you will be so sad without me. I worry...
I stop her. Tell her NEVER to worry about me. I will be FINE. I will have a wonderful time with Bing. We will watch movies and be lie abeds and take Socks for long walks. That yes, I will miss her but I really want her to see her Father too.
Liv gives me a wobbly smile.
L: So, I can go?
M: Of course you can, lovebug! And just think of it, you will get to play with all those relatives of Socks!
We are smiling and talking and my heart is hurting, my knee is aching and I am fighting to keep the tears back so hard that I feel my teeth grinding.
She will leave on December 23 and come home on January 2 and the best news is that she won't have to fly commercial. A friend of Tinton is a pilot and he has agreed to bring Tinton down to pick her up and fly her back as well. (Tinton had relayed that to me on the phone when I made some weak ass protest about air fares.)
This is me calling Harriet.
She barely answers the phone before I start blubbering. I am in the bathroom off our bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bathtub with an ice pack balanced precariously on my knee.
Harriet: Oh, honey. Shit. That sucks the big one. Truly. Well....okay. We will deal, baby. We will deal. We will go to lots of chick flicks together when she is gone, movies that Bing would hate. We will go out and get smashed on appletinis once...no twice. We will do something totally weird ass like go to a casino and go gambling. We will pretend to be Bunny and Dolores (our alter egos) and flirt outrageously and make stupid men buy us drinks. Or...we could go to an old folk's home and play Bingo. Come on..we will deal, baby. We will deal.
I feel better almost instantly especially when she tells me that it isn't the end of the world, it isn't even two weeks that she will be gone! So just eat that damned cupcake, dude and go over to your sister's house for Thanksgiving and don't bite your tongue for once. Be a bad ass and show Liv that her mother can take all the racist assholes down in the room with one hand behind her back.
We blow kisses in the phone because we are just saps like that and say Happy Thanksgiving. She will get ready to spend Thanksgiving with the inlaws that she detests and I will go to my sister's house and not keep my manners on.
This is me calling my friend, Vince in Chicago.
I tell him the situation. Ask him if he and his partner, Thuan, might want to change their quiet Christmas plans and come down her for Christmas.
Vince: Oh, honey. We can't. We already have invited our neighbors over for Christmas Eve and damn it to hell, they accepted. It was Thuan's stupid idea. He figured that we could get them over their homophobia by reaching out to them. Who knew they would accept? Good lord, they are in their 70's! We will probably have to puree all the food....but wait! Hey! Why don't you come down HERE for Christmas!!
M: Oh, I don't know. We would have to bring the dog, Vince or ask our neighbors to keep him...I don't know...
Vince begs. I sort of enjoy this. I want someone to beg me right now. I call to Bing and ask her what she thinks. She frowns and sighs. But says that if it is what I want and if it is just for CHRISTMAS...NOT NEW YEARS...well....ok....let her see what kind of airfare we can get.
I relay this to Vince and he squeals like a girl. Tells me that we will have SUCH FUN. He will take me shopping, buy me some really sweet clothes. (That man lives to dress me and he has begged Bing and I to marry just so that he can do the wedding.) We will have SUCH fun.
We say Happy Thanksgiving and he tells me that I just made his whole day. I am smiling when I hang up.
And then I remember that Liv will be gone. Socks will be at Sven's house and I will be missing my baby in Chicago.
I take a deep breath. Stand up and wince on my bad knee. Get dressed in my cream colored cashmere sweater that I love because it is so warm.
I limp downstairs and tell Bing and Liv that we need to leave in an hour and a half to go to my sister's house for Turkey.
Just eat your cupcake, dude. Swallow it down and get through it. And don't let the racists win. Get my Obama stats squarely in my head so that I can combat with facts when my brother in law guffaws and says something oh so clever and original about how is that hopey changey thing goin'?" I will tell him that it wasn't particularly funny when Palin said it and that did he know that there are no such words as hopey and changey and isn't that just such a freaking PALIN thing to come up with? When the other brother in law asks me how I like working down in nigger town, I will say I like it just fine and how does he like living in that cesspool that is his brain? When a teenaged niece says something is "gay" I will pull her aside and tell her that I think she needs to find another word to express her feelings.
I will take no prisoners.
So, hey peeps....have a Happy Freakin' Thanksgiving all around.
And stop by for an amaretto and soda and we can share Thanksgiving stories.
Background: It is 8 FUCKING A.M. and I am barely awake but when I saw his name on the caller id I took the call figuring that he wanted to wish us a Happy Thanksgiving.
ME: Hi, there. Thanks for waking me up, loser.
Tinton: Shit. Sorry. I forget that some lazy bitches stay in bed until ten on holidays....
We do the chuckling thing. We can banter like nobody's business but there is something in his voice that bothers me.
M: So...how's things?
T: Well, not great, Ice. (he calls me Ice because I am so warm and fuzzy and all that shit) Vicky broke her leg this week when she was trying to wrangle a dog to the vet.
Background: Vicky is Tinton's long term, long suffering girlfriend. They have been together for many years. She lives in Denver and breeds and sells Scotties. She gave us Socks so I am eternally indebted to her. I don't like or dislike her. She is sort of an earth mother type, reminds me of a young Joni Mitchell. Kind of looks like a young Joni too. She is long suffering because Tinton is never home, he travels a lot for his job and she sees him infrequently but they somehow manage to work it out.
M: Oh, dear! I am sorry to hear that? So, she is probably going to have to hire some help for all that dog breeding stuff, huh?
T: Well, I'm here and I told her that I'd take 6 weeks off until she gets her cast off and help out. So...
M: Oh. So. You won't be here for Christmas?
T: No. She planned to spend it in Vermont with her parents like she always does, but she is gonna skip it this year and it will just be us two. And um...well...let me run something by you, sweetcakes...
My blood instantly goes cold. Shit. DO. NOT. SAY. THIS.
A long silence. Tinton finally asks if I am still there. I say that I am.
T: We were thinking...that maybe....well....that perhaps Liv could spend Christmas here with us. Now wait. Before you blow a gasket, just think about this logically, ok?
M: Okay...
Background: Bing is now sitting up in bed looking at me because I have gone rigid and when she reaches out to touch my back, I jump out of bed because I absolutely do not want to be touched right now. And that is when I realize that my knee has swollen up to the size of a grapefruit overnight and I can barely stand on it. Shit. Fuck. I wobble to a chair and sit down hard. Bing says nothing, just watches me.
T: Maria? It isn't far. Just Denver. And I think she would have fun. You could ship all her gifts to us....we would have a big holiday dinner for her. I...just...can...you just think about this? I won't say a word to her until we talk this through, okay?
M: Okay....
I can't talk. Fuck. I can't think.
Liv comes in then and whispers, "Is that my Dad?" I nod and she runs to me holding out her hand for the receiver. I give it to her. I sit and watch Liv curl up on the floor, bubbling up into the phone, going on about this and that and this new book that she is reading and how much she misses him and she cannot wait until Christmas. They talk for ten minutes and by that time my mind is made up.
I have to at least give her the chance to decide for herself. And I have to be careful. I have to not make her feel guilty.
Liv gives me the phone back and she and Bing go downstairs to turn on the Macy's parade. I take a deep breath and speak.
M: Ok, Tinton. I will ask her if she wants to spend Christmas with you and if she says okay, it is fine with me.
My voice sounds nothing like my heart feels.
Tinton is thrilled and says to call him back when I know. I agree and we wish each other a Happy Thanksgiving and hang up.
This is me talking it over with Bing.
B: FUCK THIS SHIT! NO. NO. Just no, Maris. She belongs with us on the holidays. Are you insane? He had her all summer and I was worried sick about you. You were so sad. No, honey. No.
M: She is old enough to make up her own mind, Bing. He is her Father.
B: Where the fuck was he for the first three years of her life then?
M: He was off growing up. He was only 23 when she was born, Bing. That can't come into my decision anyway. He is here now. That is what counts.
I am sort of amazed at how calm I am. Bing shrugs and hugs me. For once I don't try to be strong and I let myself sink my head on her shoulder and let her hold me and rock me a bit. She gently leads to me a chair, tells me that she will bring me a bag of ice for my knee so that I can ice it until we have to leave for my sisters. She asks if she should send Liv up to talk to me. I say yes. She kisses me long and slow and deeply and holds my head in her hands. We put our foreheads together for a beat and then she leaves.
This is me talking to Liv.
M: Come sit next to me. I have something I need to talk about with you, honey.
Liv does this. I tell her about Vicky's broken leg, how Tinton can't come for Christmas because he needs to stay and take care of her. Tears well up in her eyes. She reaches for me and I pull her in my lap. She is such a sweet girl, she carefully avoids sitting on my swollen knee. I pat her back and she says that she understands but that she is sad. Because she loves him and will miss him. But, yes, that is very sad about Vicky too. I tell her that her father had an idea that I'd like to share with her. She looks up.
M: He wants to know if you'd like to spend Christmas with him and Vicky this year. In Denver.
Liv sinks back. Looks at the floor, thinking. Finally she looks up.
L: But, what about you, Mama? What will you do for Christmas?
I tell her that Bing and I will have a very happy quiet Christmas, just the two of us. I smile and remind her how much Bing hates company and how she will be so happy to have a nice quiet house. But that Bing is not thrilled about her going away to Denver and I would miss her so very much too, but I will understand if she wants to go. I know that she doesn't get to see her Father enough and she gets to see me all the time.
L: I think...I think...I would like to go, Mama. I mean...I've been thinking that I should meet Vicky sometime anyway. She may be my step mother one day....
I feel a sharp PING in my heart at the word MOTHER being in any sentence about Liv that does not mean ME.
Liv goes on...
L: But, I don't want to be away from you, really. And I know you will be so sad without me. I worry...
I stop her. Tell her NEVER to worry about me. I will be FINE. I will have a wonderful time with Bing. We will watch movies and be lie abeds and take Socks for long walks. That yes, I will miss her but I really want her to see her Father too.
Liv gives me a wobbly smile.
L: So, I can go?
M: Of course you can, lovebug! And just think of it, you will get to play with all those relatives of Socks!
We are smiling and talking and my heart is hurting, my knee is aching and I am fighting to keep the tears back so hard that I feel my teeth grinding.
She will leave on December 23 and come home on January 2 and the best news is that she won't have to fly commercial. A friend of Tinton is a pilot and he has agreed to bring Tinton down to pick her up and fly her back as well. (Tinton had relayed that to me on the phone when I made some weak ass protest about air fares.)
This is me calling Harriet.
She barely answers the phone before I start blubbering. I am in the bathroom off our bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bathtub with an ice pack balanced precariously on my knee.
Harriet: Oh, honey. Shit. That sucks the big one. Truly. Well....okay. We will deal, baby. We will deal. We will go to lots of chick flicks together when she is gone, movies that Bing would hate. We will go out and get smashed on appletinis once...no twice. We will do something totally weird ass like go to a casino and go gambling. We will pretend to be Bunny and Dolores (our alter egos) and flirt outrageously and make stupid men buy us drinks. Or...we could go to an old folk's home and play Bingo. Come on..we will deal, baby. We will deal.
I feel better almost instantly especially when she tells me that it isn't the end of the world, it isn't even two weeks that she will be gone! So just eat that damned cupcake, dude and go over to your sister's house for Thanksgiving and don't bite your tongue for once. Be a bad ass and show Liv that her mother can take all the racist assholes down in the room with one hand behind her back.
We blow kisses in the phone because we are just saps like that and say Happy Thanksgiving. She will get ready to spend Thanksgiving with the inlaws that she detests and I will go to my sister's house and not keep my manners on.
This is me calling my friend, Vince in Chicago.
I tell him the situation. Ask him if he and his partner, Thuan, might want to change their quiet Christmas plans and come down her for Christmas.
Vince: Oh, honey. We can't. We already have invited our neighbors over for Christmas Eve and damn it to hell, they accepted. It was Thuan's stupid idea. He figured that we could get them over their homophobia by reaching out to them. Who knew they would accept? Good lord, they are in their 70's! We will probably have to puree all the food....but wait! Hey! Why don't you come down HERE for Christmas!!
M: Oh, I don't know. We would have to bring the dog, Vince or ask our neighbors to keep him...I don't know...
Vince begs. I sort of enjoy this. I want someone to beg me right now. I call to Bing and ask her what she thinks. She frowns and sighs. But says that if it is what I want and if it is just for CHRISTMAS...NOT NEW YEARS...well....ok....let her see what kind of airfare we can get.
I relay this to Vince and he squeals like a girl. Tells me that we will have SUCH FUN. He will take me shopping, buy me some really sweet clothes. (That man lives to dress me and he has begged Bing and I to marry just so that he can do the wedding.) We will have SUCH fun.
We say Happy Thanksgiving and he tells me that I just made his whole day. I am smiling when I hang up.
And then I remember that Liv will be gone. Socks will be at Sven's house and I will be missing my baby in Chicago.
I take a deep breath. Stand up and wince on my bad knee. Get dressed in my cream colored cashmere sweater that I love because it is so warm.
I limp downstairs and tell Bing and Liv that we need to leave in an hour and a half to go to my sister's house for Turkey.
Just eat your cupcake, dude. Swallow it down and get through it. And don't let the racists win. Get my Obama stats squarely in my head so that I can combat with facts when my brother in law guffaws and says something oh so clever and original about how is that hopey changey thing goin'?" I will tell him that it wasn't particularly funny when Palin said it and that did he know that there are no such words as hopey and changey and isn't that just such a freaking PALIN thing to come up with? When the other brother in law asks me how I like working down in nigger town, I will say I like it just fine and how does he like living in that cesspool that is his brain? When a teenaged niece says something is "gay" I will pull her aside and tell her that I think she needs to find another word to express her feelings.
I will take no prisoners.
So, hey peeps....have a Happy Freakin' Thanksgiving all around.
And stop by for an amaretto and soda and we can share Thanksgiving stories.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Sorry, dudes
...but all I have for you is me pouting.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and we will be going to my sister's house like we always do. On the way home, we will vow NOT to do this next year. And then next year, there I will be, holding that pumpkin pie on my lap and reminding Bing not to get my brother in law started on politics or religion.
I want that holiday that you see on TV commercials. That happy family.
The sad thing is that I do have a pretty happy family. I love my sisters, pretty much detest their husbands, though. I love all of my nieces and nephews and there will be a new baby to hold this year.
So, why am I feeling like I just want to stay in bed all day with the covers over my head?
Please don't write in and tell me how lucky I am, that I could have cancer (been there, done that), be in a wheelchair, be a bag lady, be completely alone in the world.
And Z? Sorry you had to come to an empty cupboard. I actually have a really decent post in the works but I am too cranky to finish it tonight. I will work on it this weekend. Maybe tomorrow night when I am tripping out on an overdose of turkey.
Did I mention that I look like shit? I have a cold and Bing just came in and told me that my eyes are swollen and had I been crying? No. I just look on the outside the way I feel on the inside.
Bawl baby blues.
Time to shut up and go read a good book. Lose myself in some music. Maybe ask Bing for a foot rub.
Maybe not, I really, really do not feel like having to say no to sex again.
Because I am just too cranky and too sexy and too me right now.
I sort of prefer to wallow in my shallowness for now, thanks.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and we will be going to my sister's house like we always do. On the way home, we will vow NOT to do this next year. And then next year, there I will be, holding that pumpkin pie on my lap and reminding Bing not to get my brother in law started on politics or religion.
I want that holiday that you see on TV commercials. That happy family.
The sad thing is that I do have a pretty happy family. I love my sisters, pretty much detest their husbands, though. I love all of my nieces and nephews and there will be a new baby to hold this year.
So, why am I feeling like I just want to stay in bed all day with the covers over my head?
Please don't write in and tell me how lucky I am, that I could have cancer (been there, done that), be in a wheelchair, be a bag lady, be completely alone in the world.
And Z? Sorry you had to come to an empty cupboard. I actually have a really decent post in the works but I am too cranky to finish it tonight. I will work on it this weekend. Maybe tomorrow night when I am tripping out on an overdose of turkey.
Did I mention that I look like shit? I have a cold and Bing just came in and told me that my eyes are swollen and had I been crying? No. I just look on the outside the way I feel on the inside.
Bawl baby blues.
Time to shut up and go read a good book. Lose myself in some music. Maybe ask Bing for a foot rub.
Maybe not, I really, really do not feel like having to say no to sex again.
Because I am just too cranky and too sexy and too me right now.
I sort of prefer to wallow in my shallowness for now, thanks.
Monday, November 22, 2010
regrets
Boy howdy do I have them.
So, to quote Taylor Swift (and I admit that I am not a fan, but sometimes one of her songs will grab me by the scruff of my neck), "This is me swallowing my pride, standing in front of you saying that I'm sorry for that night."
To Alice
I wish that I had stood up for you but I didn't. It was my freshman year of high school when I got to know you when we were both stuck at the Altar Society club that our mothers made us join. We were the only teenagers in a group of older women. I hated every minute of it, but it was made bearable when it was finally time to get up from all that ridiculous praying and get punch and cookies. We would take our plates out to the convent steps and get a breath of sweet Spring air and then sultry Summer air. We didn't have much in common and I didn't like you all that much. You were okay. Not my sort of friend, really. You were too much of a parent pleaser, too sweetly obedient. But, you were someone to talk with. Eventually, I was able to talk my mother into letting me quit that godforsaken club and I didn't see you again all that Summer until our freshman year. When you showed up at school, you had a face full of pimples and a face full of eagerness to fit in. When you waved at me across a room, I barely waved back. When one of those catty girls made fun of you in gym class, made some comment about all the sweat on your face not helping your acne much, I didn't say anything. I didn't join in, of course I didn't. I wasn't a mean girl, didn't have the temperament for it. But, I didn't defend you either and I should have. To be honest, I could have taken that bitch down with one hand behind my back because I was always fast on my feet with the smart ass remark. But, I was afraid that you would glom on to me if I did that, so I was silent. Walked away. I am so sorry. You deserved better. I heard from my sisters that you married an older farmer when you were in your late 20's. Alice, I hope you are happy. Because you were nice. A little TOO nice for my taste, but nice.
To Glen
You were my homecoming date in my sophomore year. You took me by surprise when you asked me out at the fair. I had ridden the ferris wheel with you but I hadn't enjoyed it much. You kept trying to talk to me as we swayed at the tippy top but I kept pointing out constellations to show you to keep our conversation from going anywhere. So, when you asked me to the homecoming dance, I said something vague about having to ask my Mother and when we got off the ride, who was standing there smiling at me? My MOTHER. UGH. And then you nudged me and said, "Ask her!" so I blathered on to her about knowing that I was not old enough to date so it was probably a moot point but Glen had asked me to the homecoming dance? I was STUNNED when my Mother smiled broadly and said, "This is a special occasion. Of COURSE you can go!" Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Then you took my hand, obviously thrilled to death and took me over to a game and proceeded to win a stuffed bear for me. You also asked me what a moo point was and it took everything I had not to snicker. GOD. And then I had to go to homecoming with you. I took the bear home but I didn't keep it, Glen. I gave it to my baby sister. It meant virtually nothing to me. And I wasn't particularly attentive all night at the homecoming dance either. When you asked me out again, I said that I wasn't allowed to "regular" date and believe me, I was relieved. After that I completely ignored you until you finally asked Kathy out and I was finally able to walk up and down the school halls without ducking into rooms to avoid you. I'm sorry, Glen. You didn't care much for me for the rest of our school days and I don't blame you. I think I heard that you married some girl from a nearby town. I hope she cherishes all the bears that you win for her.
Hey, Jude
We met at a kegger. You came up to me with a full styrofoam cup of beer and asked me if I knew how hot I was. I think I may have sneered. But I took the beer. We sat in a bean bag chair together and you tried to kiss me several times before I let you. It was a good kiss, Jude. Seriously. For a college kid, you knew how to kiss properly. Later, when you walked me back to my dorm, you asked me out and I said okay. It was mostly because I was bored. Sorry about that but it is true. I didn't have a guy or a girl at the time and I figured that this was a good way to see a movie for free, get a free dinner too. And you supplied all of that for me. We spent that one night talking on the bed in your dorm room and you shared the story about how your brother was in and out of mental hospitals and how you were scared to death that you would end up like him since you had a lot of relatives who were basket cases too. I was only half listening, Jude. By that time I had met this woman named Karen and had already accepted a date with her. I was excited. Really excited by her. I was barely a pulse with you. When you suggested that we go see Rocky Horror together on Friday night, I told you that I had another date and oh, yeah...I didn't think we should go out anymore. I still remember you standing at my dorm room door and looking at me...so hurt. When we stumbled over our goodbyes and I shut the door? I don't think I gave you one thought after that. How cold I was! How sorry I am now.
Cory
I don't really know that I owe you much of an apology because I believe that, in general, I went above and beyond my duty to our relationship. But, what I will apologize for is staying with you when I didn't want to. That was stupid and unfair to both of us. The truth is that I lied when I said that yes, I did still love you. I was afraid to say I didn't, Cory. For fuck sakes, you tried to OFF yourself when I broke up with you. I was terrified that you would try it again. So, I lied. And I went to bed with you even though every time I looked down at your sewn up wrists I felt nauseated beyond words. I was so relieved when you finally admitted that you knew that I didn't love you anymore, could feel it and that you were going to move to Aspen and work in that jewelry store that your friend owned. After you told me this news and then went over to see your family, I stood outside on our deck and bawled my eyes out, Cory. Not because I was upset that you were leaving but because I was so damn relieved to get off this train with you at last.
To Bing
Oh, honey. Where to begin? I'm sorry that I was never a great dorm mate. I knew that you had a crush on me and I used it to my advantage many times. I lost count of how many times you carried me home drunk from parties. I let you kiss me once and I felt you trembling all over with it and that was when I told myself that you meant too much to me to hurt you by not caring enough. I worked hard after that to be the best friend that you ever had and I think I succeeded because we never let each other go. Thank you for moving back to the freezing cold prairie after Liv was born to help me care for her. I know how much you loved being back in New Orleans and how hard it must have been to come back her to what you still refer to as that freezing wasteland. I apologize for letting you become my lover when you were here. I gave you false hopes and that was wrong of me. The truth is that I honestly thought it could work with us. I did love you, I just didn't love you. Thank you for calling me on that and leaving after six months to go back South. Thank you for not calling me all those names that I deserved for hurting you so much. Thank you for staying in touch but keeping on guard against me too. When you finally moved back here several years later, I was a changed woman. Being Liv's mother changed me in profound ways. I saw the world in another light. And then I began to see you in a different way. Instead of my loyal, steadfast friend, I saw you as this incredibly beautiful woman who was strong and true hearted and so good inside. So good to me. So good for me. And thank you for not telling me to go take a hike on that day in the diner when I looked up at you from the other side of the booth and whispered that I thought I was falling in love with you for real. Thank you for taking a chance on us when you had no reason to. Thank you for putting up with me for all these years and being the one person in the world who knows me inside and outside, knows every inch of my skin and my soul and loves me anyway. Thank you for loving me so steadfastly and with such passion that I still shiver with joy in bed with you. You taught me what real grown up love is and was patient with my slow learning skills. I will stay with you until my last day on earth and then I will meet you on the other side. And thank you for telling me daily that I am the hottest woman in the world. Only you would know just how much my vain soul needs that reassurance. Thank you for playing Ventura Highway for me on your guitar and looking at me with such smoldering eyes that I want to jump you.
Dear Nirand
Thanks for stepping back. I was vulnerable on that day several years ago when you taught me how to do the hand dance in my kitchen. When we swung towards each other, palm to palm and you leaned in to kiss me, acting on all that unspoken attraction, I somehow found the cool head to stop us, turn around in my tracks and run out to my garden. Thank you for finding me and making me take the dog for a walk with you so that we could talk. You were so kind and I was so upset. You thanked me for stopping what would have been a very, very, very bad move on both of our parts and vowed that it would never happen again. It never has and because you respect our friendship so much, we have managed to get our wonderful friendship up and running again. I could have lost you so easily and what a terrible thing that would have been. You are one of my favorite people on the planet and one of my tribe. I love the ridiculous texts you send me (Well, the McRib is back. God is good.) and the way I can snicker with you and you just get me. Maybe next life, dude. Maybe in the next life....
To the stranger at the grocery store
I am 52. I no longer turn heads. And yes, I used to be able to do that with no makeup on and when I wasn't even trying. So, I wasn't prepared for you to smile at me in that knowing way when that idiotic woman in front of me at the cheese demonstration who was trying to impress you tried to pronounce the word fromage and said, "fromadgee." When you looked at me and smiled tongue in cheek and gallantly suggested that she should try the bergenost, I let you catch my eye and smiled back. When you asked me if I wanted to go have coffee with you and try out some "fromadgee" and bread samples, I declined but it wasn't easy. I don't know if you have any idea how badly I needed to feel pretty that day and when your eyes pronounced me pretty, it felt wonderful. I sort of regret that I didn't sit down with that coffee with you because I sensed that we would have had a wonderful bantering conversation and I sorely miss those. But, yes. I am married and leading you on would have been a mistake. But, I do sort of wonder about you now and then.
To the rest of you who shall go unnamed
I can be aloof. I can be a bit of a bitch. But, you know...I am not nearly as heartless as I seem sometimes. I do have a conscience and it works well. I know when I need to apologize. Sometimes my heart DOES go all soft and gooey, I just don't show it that much. Long story, but I learned as a child to hide my heart and those lessons were burned into me early. I learned that if you look at the ceiling and blink very hard three times, you can sometimes divert tears. But, my heart is in there and I do try very, very hard to be a good person. You can thank my daughter for that lesson. She made me want to be the best mother in the world, the best person I can, a role model that shows her the right way to be in this life. You can thank my wife too. She asked me once if I was ever going to open up or if she was always going to have to "come in and drag you out." I don't think I answered her, I probably re-directed her attention back to the bed we were laying on so that I wouldn't have to answer. She is still here and she still does crazy things like pull me into her lap and tell me that is okay to cry. And she looks at me like she can't believe how lucky she is when the truth is that I'm no prize. She could do better. I'm the lucky one.
So...live and learn. Live and learn.
So, to quote Taylor Swift (and I admit that I am not a fan, but sometimes one of her songs will grab me by the scruff of my neck), "This is me swallowing my pride, standing in front of you saying that I'm sorry for that night."
To Alice
I wish that I had stood up for you but I didn't. It was my freshman year of high school when I got to know you when we were both stuck at the Altar Society club that our mothers made us join. We were the only teenagers in a group of older women. I hated every minute of it, but it was made bearable when it was finally time to get up from all that ridiculous praying and get punch and cookies. We would take our plates out to the convent steps and get a breath of sweet Spring air and then sultry Summer air. We didn't have much in common and I didn't like you all that much. You were okay. Not my sort of friend, really. You were too much of a parent pleaser, too sweetly obedient. But, you were someone to talk with. Eventually, I was able to talk my mother into letting me quit that godforsaken club and I didn't see you again all that Summer until our freshman year. When you showed up at school, you had a face full of pimples and a face full of eagerness to fit in. When you waved at me across a room, I barely waved back. When one of those catty girls made fun of you in gym class, made some comment about all the sweat on your face not helping your acne much, I didn't say anything. I didn't join in, of course I didn't. I wasn't a mean girl, didn't have the temperament for it. But, I didn't defend you either and I should have. To be honest, I could have taken that bitch down with one hand behind my back because I was always fast on my feet with the smart ass remark. But, I was afraid that you would glom on to me if I did that, so I was silent. Walked away. I am so sorry. You deserved better. I heard from my sisters that you married an older farmer when you were in your late 20's. Alice, I hope you are happy. Because you were nice. A little TOO nice for my taste, but nice.
To Glen
You were my homecoming date in my sophomore year. You took me by surprise when you asked me out at the fair. I had ridden the ferris wheel with you but I hadn't enjoyed it much. You kept trying to talk to me as we swayed at the tippy top but I kept pointing out constellations to show you to keep our conversation from going anywhere. So, when you asked me to the homecoming dance, I said something vague about having to ask my Mother and when we got off the ride, who was standing there smiling at me? My MOTHER. UGH. And then you nudged me and said, "Ask her!" so I blathered on to her about knowing that I was not old enough to date so it was probably a moot point but Glen had asked me to the homecoming dance? I was STUNNED when my Mother smiled broadly and said, "This is a special occasion. Of COURSE you can go!" Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Then you took my hand, obviously thrilled to death and took me over to a game and proceeded to win a stuffed bear for me. You also asked me what a moo point was and it took everything I had not to snicker. GOD. And then I had to go to homecoming with you. I took the bear home but I didn't keep it, Glen. I gave it to my baby sister. It meant virtually nothing to me. And I wasn't particularly attentive all night at the homecoming dance either. When you asked me out again, I said that I wasn't allowed to "regular" date and believe me, I was relieved. After that I completely ignored you until you finally asked Kathy out and I was finally able to walk up and down the school halls without ducking into rooms to avoid you. I'm sorry, Glen. You didn't care much for me for the rest of our school days and I don't blame you. I think I heard that you married some girl from a nearby town. I hope she cherishes all the bears that you win for her.
Hey, Jude
We met at a kegger. You came up to me with a full styrofoam cup of beer and asked me if I knew how hot I was. I think I may have sneered. But I took the beer. We sat in a bean bag chair together and you tried to kiss me several times before I let you. It was a good kiss, Jude. Seriously. For a college kid, you knew how to kiss properly. Later, when you walked me back to my dorm, you asked me out and I said okay. It was mostly because I was bored. Sorry about that but it is true. I didn't have a guy or a girl at the time and I figured that this was a good way to see a movie for free, get a free dinner too. And you supplied all of that for me. We spent that one night talking on the bed in your dorm room and you shared the story about how your brother was in and out of mental hospitals and how you were scared to death that you would end up like him since you had a lot of relatives who were basket cases too. I was only half listening, Jude. By that time I had met this woman named Karen and had already accepted a date with her. I was excited. Really excited by her. I was barely a pulse with you. When you suggested that we go see Rocky Horror together on Friday night, I told you that I had another date and oh, yeah...I didn't think we should go out anymore. I still remember you standing at my dorm room door and looking at me...so hurt. When we stumbled over our goodbyes and I shut the door? I don't think I gave you one thought after that. How cold I was! How sorry I am now.
Cory
I don't really know that I owe you much of an apology because I believe that, in general, I went above and beyond my duty to our relationship. But, what I will apologize for is staying with you when I didn't want to. That was stupid and unfair to both of us. The truth is that I lied when I said that yes, I did still love you. I was afraid to say I didn't, Cory. For fuck sakes, you tried to OFF yourself when I broke up with you. I was terrified that you would try it again. So, I lied. And I went to bed with you even though every time I looked down at your sewn up wrists I felt nauseated beyond words. I was so relieved when you finally admitted that you knew that I didn't love you anymore, could feel it and that you were going to move to Aspen and work in that jewelry store that your friend owned. After you told me this news and then went over to see your family, I stood outside on our deck and bawled my eyes out, Cory. Not because I was upset that you were leaving but because I was so damn relieved to get off this train with you at last.
To Bing
Oh, honey. Where to begin? I'm sorry that I was never a great dorm mate. I knew that you had a crush on me and I used it to my advantage many times. I lost count of how many times you carried me home drunk from parties. I let you kiss me once and I felt you trembling all over with it and that was when I told myself that you meant too much to me to hurt you by not caring enough. I worked hard after that to be the best friend that you ever had and I think I succeeded because we never let each other go. Thank you for moving back to the freezing cold prairie after Liv was born to help me care for her. I know how much you loved being back in New Orleans and how hard it must have been to come back her to what you still refer to as that freezing wasteland. I apologize for letting you become my lover when you were here. I gave you false hopes and that was wrong of me. The truth is that I honestly thought it could work with us. I did love you, I just didn't love you. Thank you for calling me on that and leaving after six months to go back South. Thank you for not calling me all those names that I deserved for hurting you so much. Thank you for staying in touch but keeping on guard against me too. When you finally moved back here several years later, I was a changed woman. Being Liv's mother changed me in profound ways. I saw the world in another light. And then I began to see you in a different way. Instead of my loyal, steadfast friend, I saw you as this incredibly beautiful woman who was strong and true hearted and so good inside. So good to me. So good for me. And thank you for not telling me to go take a hike on that day in the diner when I looked up at you from the other side of the booth and whispered that I thought I was falling in love with you for real. Thank you for taking a chance on us when you had no reason to. Thank you for putting up with me for all these years and being the one person in the world who knows me inside and outside, knows every inch of my skin and my soul and loves me anyway. Thank you for loving me so steadfastly and with such passion that I still shiver with joy in bed with you. You taught me what real grown up love is and was patient with my slow learning skills. I will stay with you until my last day on earth and then I will meet you on the other side. And thank you for telling me daily that I am the hottest woman in the world. Only you would know just how much my vain soul needs that reassurance. Thank you for playing Ventura Highway for me on your guitar and looking at me with such smoldering eyes that I want to jump you.
Dear Nirand
Thanks for stepping back. I was vulnerable on that day several years ago when you taught me how to do the hand dance in my kitchen. When we swung towards each other, palm to palm and you leaned in to kiss me, acting on all that unspoken attraction, I somehow found the cool head to stop us, turn around in my tracks and run out to my garden. Thank you for finding me and making me take the dog for a walk with you so that we could talk. You were so kind and I was so upset. You thanked me for stopping what would have been a very, very, very bad move on both of our parts and vowed that it would never happen again. It never has and because you respect our friendship so much, we have managed to get our wonderful friendship up and running again. I could have lost you so easily and what a terrible thing that would have been. You are one of my favorite people on the planet and one of my tribe. I love the ridiculous texts you send me (Well, the McRib is back. God is good.) and the way I can snicker with you and you just get me. Maybe next life, dude. Maybe in the next life....
To the stranger at the grocery store
I am 52. I no longer turn heads. And yes, I used to be able to do that with no makeup on and when I wasn't even trying. So, I wasn't prepared for you to smile at me in that knowing way when that idiotic woman in front of me at the cheese demonstration who was trying to impress you tried to pronounce the word fromage and said, "fromadgee." When you looked at me and smiled tongue in cheek and gallantly suggested that she should try the bergenost, I let you catch my eye and smiled back. When you asked me if I wanted to go have coffee with you and try out some "fromadgee" and bread samples, I declined but it wasn't easy. I don't know if you have any idea how badly I needed to feel pretty that day and when your eyes pronounced me pretty, it felt wonderful. I sort of regret that I didn't sit down with that coffee with you because I sensed that we would have had a wonderful bantering conversation and I sorely miss those. But, yes. I am married and leading you on would have been a mistake. But, I do sort of wonder about you now and then.
To the rest of you who shall go unnamed
I can be aloof. I can be a bit of a bitch. But, you know...I am not nearly as heartless as I seem sometimes. I do have a conscience and it works well. I know when I need to apologize. Sometimes my heart DOES go all soft and gooey, I just don't show it that much. Long story, but I learned as a child to hide my heart and those lessons were burned into me early. I learned that if you look at the ceiling and blink very hard three times, you can sometimes divert tears. But, my heart is in there and I do try very, very hard to be a good person. You can thank my daughter for that lesson. She made me want to be the best mother in the world, the best person I can, a role model that shows her the right way to be in this life. You can thank my wife too. She asked me once if I was ever going to open up or if she was always going to have to "come in and drag you out." I don't think I answered her, I probably re-directed her attention back to the bed we were laying on so that I wouldn't have to answer. She is still here and she still does crazy things like pull me into her lap and tell me that is okay to cry. And she looks at me like she can't believe how lucky she is when the truth is that I'm no prize. She could do better. I'm the lucky one.
So...live and learn. Live and learn.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
It happened
I went in to Liv's room last night to say one last goodnight. She was tucked up in bed, reading her book and cuddling with the dog. I said that my toes were sort of cold, could I come in and warm them up for awhile? She opened the covers and Socks audibly sighed as I usurped his place.
"So, how was your day? We didn't get to talk much at dinner," I asked.
"Mama?"
Just the use of the word mama got my red flags up. Liv seldom calls me that anymore. It is always Mom or Mother.
"Yes?" I burrowed my feet in deep.
"Did you ever like boys much?"
I told her that yes, I did. That I was with Bing now, but that I had liked several boys before her.
Did you ever like a boy who didn't like you?"
Oh, sweetie.
"Yes," I told her carefully. "It happens sometimes to everyone."
I waited.
Nothing more. I took the initiative.
"Honey, do you like a boy who doesn't like you back?" I asked.
Silence.
Finally....
"I don't know. I guess so. I just...well....I don't know if I LIKE him or not, I just sort of...notice....him a lot."
I nodded. Cuddled her. We didn't say anything for a bit.
"I'm getting sleepy, Mom." I slid out of the bed, tucking back the covers around her.
"Okay, honey. Sleep well. And Livvie?"
She looked up, her golden hair shining under the bedside lamp. Socks quickly took his place back.
"Boys can be pretty hard to figure out. I'm here if you need me."
"Okay. 'Night."
"Night, love."
One more kiss.
I smoothed the hair on her head, tucked a tendril behind her ear which she immediately shook loose because she hates it when I do that.
I went to my own room and tried to read. It wasn't happening, so I curled around Bing and went to sleep.
My sweet baby. I wish that you would never have to be hurt by some boy.
"
"So, how was your day? We didn't get to talk much at dinner," I asked.
"Mama?"
Just the use of the word mama got my red flags up. Liv seldom calls me that anymore. It is always Mom or Mother.
"Yes?" I burrowed my feet in deep.
"Did you ever like boys much?"
I told her that yes, I did. That I was with Bing now, but that I had liked several boys before her.
Did you ever like a boy who didn't like you?"
Oh, sweetie.
"Yes," I told her carefully. "It happens sometimes to everyone."
I waited.
Nothing more. I took the initiative.
"Honey, do you like a boy who doesn't like you back?" I asked.
Silence.
Finally....
"I don't know. I guess so. I just...well....I don't know if I LIKE him or not, I just sort of...notice....him a lot."
I nodded. Cuddled her. We didn't say anything for a bit.
"I'm getting sleepy, Mom." I slid out of the bed, tucking back the covers around her.
"Okay, honey. Sleep well. And Livvie?"
She looked up, her golden hair shining under the bedside lamp. Socks quickly took his place back.
"Boys can be pretty hard to figure out. I'm here if you need me."
"Okay. 'Night."
"Night, love."
One more kiss.
I smoothed the hair on her head, tucked a tendril behind her ear which she immediately shook loose because she hates it when I do that.
I went to my own room and tried to read. It wasn't happening, so I curled around Bing and went to sleep.
My sweet baby. I wish that you would never have to be hurt by some boy.
"
Saturday, November 13, 2010
That part that no one tells you about
I'm not stupid.
It wasn't as if I thought that after you settled down with someone that life was happy ever after. All the time.
But, I honestly had no idea that it was this much work.
And for those of you who want to go Pollyanna on me and write to tell me that your marriage, commitment, partnership is different, spare me. If you are one of those lucky few who have that marriage made in heaven, do the rest of us a favor and keep your big mouth shut. We don't want to hear that you have never been so mad that you felt like throwing a plate at his or her head. Or that you have never once gone to bed mad. Or that every little thing she does is magic.
Barf.
On you.
I love Bing. Truly. Madly. Deeply. She is my sugar pie, my one and only, the one who can still make my heart skip a beat. She's the one who knows what brings me to the absolute edge of crazy arousal in bed. She's also the one who knows that I'm not really into having my anus stimulated during lovemaking, keep the digits away from my nether parts, will ya? Does nada for me. Seriously. She knows just about every one of my secrets (I keep a few to myself, that is just me) and still digs me. If the world was taken over by giant spiders and I knew we were all gonna die? I'd want to be in her arms. She is the one who calls me at work and says, "Hows about I come over there and we can have a quickie in your office, little girl?" And yes, I allow her to call me little girl.
I admit that we have never had that quickie in my office, though. We talk about it, yes. Do it? Nope. I would never risk losing my professionalism. And good on her that she just knows that.
She is also the one who drives me stark raving mad. And not in a good way. Not like The Fine Young Cannibals singing about how she drives me crazy...like no one caaaaannnnn....
No. She irritates the FUCK out of me. THAT kind of stark raving mad.
She does not understand that I DO NOT LIKE to talk until I have had coffee. Invariably, she comes in our bedroom every morning and is, in my eyes, stupidly cheerful. She insists on kissing me even when I warn her that I have not brushed my teeth yet. She asks me questions. Hard questions like "What should we have for dinner tonight? Any requests?" when she KNOWS that I am not able to even pick out my clothes to wear to work before I have had coffee. I have to lay out my outfit the night before. Otherwise, there is no telling what I will arrive at work wearing. So, why does she insist on trying to converse with me in the morning? STOP already.
She drives like a maniac. I am honestly amazed that she has not gotten in a major car accident. She drives as if we are on our way to the emergency room even if we are just going to a movie. She is one of those cheater drivers who piss me off. You know the ones. The ones who drive up to the front of the line when a lane is closed and then expects some kind sap to let her cut in front of them. And there always is one. A kind sap. Not me, though. I have told her many, many times that if I had my druthers, she would sit there for HOURS waiting as pay back for being a cheater. She laughs when I say this because she knows humans better than I do, I suppose. Because someone always lets her in.
When we fight, she has this ridiculous idea that we have to stay on topic. Picture this: She and I are arguing about whether to spend a goodly sum on a new space heater. The one we have just doesn't keep my feet as toasty as it used to. And it is NOVEMBER in NEBRASKA. It is fucking COLD. So, she is arguing that she will go to Craig's List and find one cheap for us. I want to go out and buy a new one. Because I just WANT TO. She argues that this is wasteful, a real waste of money. What this is really about is that I know her. She will forget to go to Craig's List. If I remind her, she will tell me to stop nagging, that she is getting to it just as soon as she turns in her grades or buys those shoes she likes online, etc. So, when we are arguing about whether or not to buy a new space heater, I bring up the fact that she is a PROCRASTINATOR and that it will NEVER get done, so we are BETTER OFF buying the thing. I will point out that she STILL has not finished re-doing the bathroom project that she started THREE years ago.
Apparently, this is not staying on topic.
She also thinks that what is relaxing for her should be relaxing for me. It isn't. WE ARE NOT THE SAME PERSON. I have tried to tell her this over and over. NO. I do not want to watch a re-run of SIX FEET UNDER because I had a bad day and I feel like some snarky humor to fluff me out of my bad mood.
I need a glass of wine and some cuddling. LIGHT CUDDLING. Not the cuddling that she sees as the perfect stress buster: cuddling that segues into rubbing my back and then stroking my breasts and some hot, deep kissing that moves into her going down on me in the lazy boy.
I AM STRESSED OUT. I DO NOT WANT TO HAVE SEX. THIS WORKS FOR YOU! NOT ME.
She argues that this will RELAX me. Maybe so. But, I don't LIKE to have sex when I am stressed out. I much prefer sleeping, dude. And we DO have a child who is upstairs sleeping! One who could come downstairs at any time to get some milk because she can't sleep. I do not want to be a story that she tells her therapist in 20 years. I can't really relax when she wants to have sex in the living room when our child is only a few rooms away. I don't find this RELAXING.
She is pretty much a vegetarian, although she isn't rabid about it. She likes a hamburger occasionally but the key word here is occasionally. She eats well. She does not really have a sweet tooth, can almost always just say no to snickers bars, brownies that someone brought to work and put on a pretty plate in the staff lounge. Before she went into menopause, she would crave ice cream when she was on her period. But that was it, folks. She can say no to that pumpkin pie after Thanksgiving dinner with no problemo. She can also say no to the stuffin' with oysters and raisins and the mashed potatoes with good thick gravy. She just says yes to a small slice of turkey ("It should be no bigger than a deck of cards, that is all the meat you need"), a tiny spoon of yams, lots and lots of veggies and cranberry sauce as long as it is homemade. No wine. No amaretto and soda. No appletini. Maybe an olive but no roll dripping with honey butter.
This would all be admirable except for the fact that she can't just mind her own beeswax. But no. She will look at my plate, loaded with turkey, stuffin', mashers and gravy, ten black olives, green bean casserole and not one roll, but two...slathered in butter if you please. She will frown when looking at said plate. She will ask me if I am courting a heart attack. She says this when I eat Cap'n Crunch for breakfast too. When I bring KFC home. Pizza. Pizza with cheese in the crust. Not only will she try to shame me into eating healthier, but she will gently accuse me of being a less than stellar mother when I allow Liv to have a pop tart for breakfast instead of apple slices.
She knows this hurts. I can take her admonishing me (well...okay...when I say that I can take it...I mean that I allow her to bitch at me and then ignore her) but to accuse me of harming my daughter? Thems fightin' words, son. More than once, I have had cornered her in the garage to tell her to stop acting like such a freakin' saint about food. I KNOW that she is a good eater. I know that I am not. I know that I have diabetes and believe it or not, I am fairly cognizant about what I can safely eat and what will send my blood sugar into the stratosphere. But, why must she act so smug?
She is a total and complete slob about piles. She leaves her school papers, mail, newspapers laying all over the place and gets testy if I move them. Yet, she is strangely devoted to making sure that all the faucets in our home are sparkling and nothing bugs her more than a kitchen floor that is less than shiny. I admit that when I am really, really bothered by her piles....well...okay....I sometimes smear up the faucet with finger prints and then laugh quietly to myself. Because I am obviously passive aggressive.
She absolutely HATES it on the rare occasions when she goes to bed before I do. I have no idea why this is. All I know is that sometimes she will say that she is tired around 9 p.m. and I will not be ready for bed. I will tell her that I am going to stay up and watch Hawaii Five-O. She will look at me. Blink. Ask me if maybe I would like to come to bed and watch it, so that we can cuddle.
Remember what I said about cuddling? No. I do NOT want to go to bed early with her and miss Hawaii Five-O because she becomes a very serious cuddler. So, I say no. I will be up later. For some reason, and okay because I accidentally DID THIS ONE TIME AND ONE TIME ONLY, she worries that I will leave a candle burning. Yes. Once I left a candle burning and when we got up the next morning, it was still burning on the living room end table but very, very soupy. I thought I was never going to hear the end of how I COULD HAVE BURNED DOWN THE HOUSE.
So, now she has this irrational fear of going to bed before I do.
I have told her that believe it or not, I lived for decades without her and did not once burn down a house.
She isn't convinced. Even when she was in Africa all summer, she would always remind me to "blow out all the candles in the house before you go to bed!"
I get annoyed at the way she treats waitstaff. She is not particularly friendly and if there is a problem with her order (and the truth is that if there is something that can go wrong with our meal, somehow it is always her meal.) she becomes positively frosty. She insists on talking to management. She tries hard to get a free meal out of deal. And even when the meal is satisfactory, she is a poor tipper. 10%.
Now, I have never been a waitress or a waiter. But, I do know that these people work hard for the money. And they get paid shit. Kind of like....um...TEACHERS...so she should be more understanding for pete's sake. But, no. She actually digs out her phone and figures the EXACT ten percent tip on it. I always slap down the other ten percent so that our tip will make twenty percent. This annoys her and she lectures me that America is the only country in the world who does not pay it's servers decent wages and insists that patrons pay huge tips to make up for it. She argues that if enough Americans refused to pay more than ten percent, less people would take waiting jobs and the restaurant owners would be forced to change their ways.
I laugh in her face over this one. Tell her that the only thing that happens is that some waiter or waitress has a really bad night because of her and others like her.
When Bing and I moved in together, she was a Democrat just like me. Now, she is starting to say things that upset me like, "You know, I think that Obama might just be a one termer and that is probably for the best" and "I think that some of those Republican radio speakers aren't all that off the mark."
I have told her that if she becomes a Republican, she better not ever let me find out because there will be hell to pay. She retorts that one of the perks of this country is that we have freedom to vote for whoever we want and if she wants to vote Republican, she will. I tell her fine. But, I also have the freedom to decide who I have sex with and I WILL NEVER have sex with a Republican.
And then I stare her down until she laughs and looks away and throws up her hands.
"You win, sweet ass gal," she says. "Because I don't think I could live without your affections on these cold Nebraska nights."
Damn straight.
As I said, I love Bing. So much. Everything is better because she is my partner. I am happier. I enjoy our love. I depend on it.
But, FUCK....this marriage shit is not for sissies. It is HARD WORK. I have compromised more in this relationship than any other in my life. And if you ask her, I am sure that she will unflinchingly agree. Life with her Maria is no bed of roses she will tell you. But, then she will smile and say that "hey..it's worth it in the end though."
And she will be absolutely right.
Right?
It wasn't as if I thought that after you settled down with someone that life was happy ever after. All the time.
But, I honestly had no idea that it was this much work.
And for those of you who want to go Pollyanna on me and write to tell me that your marriage, commitment, partnership is different, spare me. If you are one of those lucky few who have that marriage made in heaven, do the rest of us a favor and keep your big mouth shut. We don't want to hear that you have never been so mad that you felt like throwing a plate at his or her head. Or that you have never once gone to bed mad. Or that every little thing she does is magic.
Barf.
On you.
I love Bing. Truly. Madly. Deeply. She is my sugar pie, my one and only, the one who can still make my heart skip a beat. She's the one who knows what brings me to the absolute edge of crazy arousal in bed. She's also the one who knows that I'm not really into having my anus stimulated during lovemaking, keep the digits away from my nether parts, will ya? Does nada for me. Seriously. She knows just about every one of my secrets (I keep a few to myself, that is just me) and still digs me. If the world was taken over by giant spiders and I knew we were all gonna die? I'd want to be in her arms. She is the one who calls me at work and says, "Hows about I come over there and we can have a quickie in your office, little girl?" And yes, I allow her to call me little girl.
I admit that we have never had that quickie in my office, though. We talk about it, yes. Do it? Nope. I would never risk losing my professionalism. And good on her that she just knows that.
She is also the one who drives me stark raving mad. And not in a good way. Not like The Fine Young Cannibals singing about how she drives me crazy...like no one caaaaannnnn....
No. She irritates the FUCK out of me. THAT kind of stark raving mad.
She does not understand that I DO NOT LIKE to talk until I have had coffee. Invariably, she comes in our bedroom every morning and is, in my eyes, stupidly cheerful. She insists on kissing me even when I warn her that I have not brushed my teeth yet. She asks me questions. Hard questions like "What should we have for dinner tonight? Any requests?" when she KNOWS that I am not able to even pick out my clothes to wear to work before I have had coffee. I have to lay out my outfit the night before. Otherwise, there is no telling what I will arrive at work wearing. So, why does she insist on trying to converse with me in the morning? STOP already.
She drives like a maniac. I am honestly amazed that she has not gotten in a major car accident. She drives as if we are on our way to the emergency room even if we are just going to a movie. She is one of those cheater drivers who piss me off. You know the ones. The ones who drive up to the front of the line when a lane is closed and then expects some kind sap to let her cut in front of them. And there always is one. A kind sap. Not me, though. I have told her many, many times that if I had my druthers, she would sit there for HOURS waiting as pay back for being a cheater. She laughs when I say this because she knows humans better than I do, I suppose. Because someone always lets her in.
When we fight, she has this ridiculous idea that we have to stay on topic. Picture this: She and I are arguing about whether to spend a goodly sum on a new space heater. The one we have just doesn't keep my feet as toasty as it used to. And it is NOVEMBER in NEBRASKA. It is fucking COLD. So, she is arguing that she will go to Craig's List and find one cheap for us. I want to go out and buy a new one. Because I just WANT TO. She argues that this is wasteful, a real waste of money. What this is really about is that I know her. She will forget to go to Craig's List. If I remind her, she will tell me to stop nagging, that she is getting to it just as soon as she turns in her grades or buys those shoes she likes online, etc. So, when we are arguing about whether or not to buy a new space heater, I bring up the fact that she is a PROCRASTINATOR and that it will NEVER get done, so we are BETTER OFF buying the thing. I will point out that she STILL has not finished re-doing the bathroom project that she started THREE years ago.
Apparently, this is not staying on topic.
She also thinks that what is relaxing for her should be relaxing for me. It isn't. WE ARE NOT THE SAME PERSON. I have tried to tell her this over and over. NO. I do not want to watch a re-run of SIX FEET UNDER because I had a bad day and I feel like some snarky humor to fluff me out of my bad mood.
I need a glass of wine and some cuddling. LIGHT CUDDLING. Not the cuddling that she sees as the perfect stress buster: cuddling that segues into rubbing my back and then stroking my breasts and some hot, deep kissing that moves into her going down on me in the lazy boy.
I AM STRESSED OUT. I DO NOT WANT TO HAVE SEX. THIS WORKS FOR YOU! NOT ME.
She argues that this will RELAX me. Maybe so. But, I don't LIKE to have sex when I am stressed out. I much prefer sleeping, dude. And we DO have a child who is upstairs sleeping! One who could come downstairs at any time to get some milk because she can't sleep. I do not want to be a story that she tells her therapist in 20 years. I can't really relax when she wants to have sex in the living room when our child is only a few rooms away. I don't find this RELAXING.
She is pretty much a vegetarian, although she isn't rabid about it. She likes a hamburger occasionally but the key word here is occasionally. She eats well. She does not really have a sweet tooth, can almost always just say no to snickers bars, brownies that someone brought to work and put on a pretty plate in the staff lounge. Before she went into menopause, she would crave ice cream when she was on her period. But that was it, folks. She can say no to that pumpkin pie after Thanksgiving dinner with no problemo. She can also say no to the stuffin' with oysters and raisins and the mashed potatoes with good thick gravy. She just says yes to a small slice of turkey ("It should be no bigger than a deck of cards, that is all the meat you need"), a tiny spoon of yams, lots and lots of veggies and cranberry sauce as long as it is homemade. No wine. No amaretto and soda. No appletini. Maybe an olive but no roll dripping with honey butter.
This would all be admirable except for the fact that she can't just mind her own beeswax. But no. She will look at my plate, loaded with turkey, stuffin', mashers and gravy, ten black olives, green bean casserole and not one roll, but two...slathered in butter if you please. She will frown when looking at said plate. She will ask me if I am courting a heart attack. She says this when I eat Cap'n Crunch for breakfast too. When I bring KFC home. Pizza. Pizza with cheese in the crust. Not only will she try to shame me into eating healthier, but she will gently accuse me of being a less than stellar mother when I allow Liv to have a pop tart for breakfast instead of apple slices.
She knows this hurts. I can take her admonishing me (well...okay...when I say that I can take it...I mean that I allow her to bitch at me and then ignore her) but to accuse me of harming my daughter? Thems fightin' words, son. More than once, I have had cornered her in the garage to tell her to stop acting like such a freakin' saint about food. I KNOW that she is a good eater. I know that I am not. I know that I have diabetes and believe it or not, I am fairly cognizant about what I can safely eat and what will send my blood sugar into the stratosphere. But, why must she act so smug?
She is a total and complete slob about piles. She leaves her school papers, mail, newspapers laying all over the place and gets testy if I move them. Yet, she is strangely devoted to making sure that all the faucets in our home are sparkling and nothing bugs her more than a kitchen floor that is less than shiny. I admit that when I am really, really bothered by her piles....well...okay....I sometimes smear up the faucet with finger prints and then laugh quietly to myself. Because I am obviously passive aggressive.
She absolutely HATES it on the rare occasions when she goes to bed before I do. I have no idea why this is. All I know is that sometimes she will say that she is tired around 9 p.m. and I will not be ready for bed. I will tell her that I am going to stay up and watch Hawaii Five-O. She will look at me. Blink. Ask me if maybe I would like to come to bed and watch it, so that we can cuddle.
Remember what I said about cuddling? No. I do NOT want to go to bed early with her and miss Hawaii Five-O because she becomes a very serious cuddler. So, I say no. I will be up later. For some reason, and okay because I accidentally DID THIS ONE TIME AND ONE TIME ONLY, she worries that I will leave a candle burning. Yes. Once I left a candle burning and when we got up the next morning, it was still burning on the living room end table but very, very soupy. I thought I was never going to hear the end of how I COULD HAVE BURNED DOWN THE HOUSE.
So, now she has this irrational fear of going to bed before I do.
I have told her that believe it or not, I lived for decades without her and did not once burn down a house.
She isn't convinced. Even when she was in Africa all summer, she would always remind me to "blow out all the candles in the house before you go to bed!"
I get annoyed at the way she treats waitstaff. She is not particularly friendly and if there is a problem with her order (and the truth is that if there is something that can go wrong with our meal, somehow it is always her meal.) she becomes positively frosty. She insists on talking to management. She tries hard to get a free meal out of deal. And even when the meal is satisfactory, she is a poor tipper. 10%.
Now, I have never been a waitress or a waiter. But, I do know that these people work hard for the money. And they get paid shit. Kind of like....um...TEACHERS...so she should be more understanding for pete's sake. But, no. She actually digs out her phone and figures the EXACT ten percent tip on it. I always slap down the other ten percent so that our tip will make twenty percent. This annoys her and she lectures me that America is the only country in the world who does not pay it's servers decent wages and insists that patrons pay huge tips to make up for it. She argues that if enough Americans refused to pay more than ten percent, less people would take waiting jobs and the restaurant owners would be forced to change their ways.
I laugh in her face over this one. Tell her that the only thing that happens is that some waiter or waitress has a really bad night because of her and others like her.
When Bing and I moved in together, she was a Democrat just like me. Now, she is starting to say things that upset me like, "You know, I think that Obama might just be a one termer and that is probably for the best" and "I think that some of those Republican radio speakers aren't all that off the mark."
I have told her that if she becomes a Republican, she better not ever let me find out because there will be hell to pay. She retorts that one of the perks of this country is that we have freedom to vote for whoever we want and if she wants to vote Republican, she will. I tell her fine. But, I also have the freedom to decide who I have sex with and I WILL NEVER have sex with a Republican.
And then I stare her down until she laughs and looks away and throws up her hands.
"You win, sweet ass gal," she says. "Because I don't think I could live without your affections on these cold Nebraska nights."
Damn straight.
As I said, I love Bing. So much. Everything is better because she is my partner. I am happier. I enjoy our love. I depend on it.
But, FUCK....this marriage shit is not for sissies. It is HARD WORK. I have compromised more in this relationship than any other in my life. And if you ask her, I am sure that she will unflinchingly agree. Life with her Maria is no bed of roses she will tell you. But, then she will smile and say that "hey..it's worth it in the end though."
And she will be absolutely right.
Right?
Friday, November 05, 2010
That maudlin post at 4 a.m.
Like everyone, I am a person who is changed by small moments and bigger ones. Some of mine:
1) I am about five. My Da wakes me up in the middle of night (probably around 11 p.m.) and whispers, "Wanna see something pretty, baby love?" I whisper back that OH MY YES! I DO! He carries me down the stairs and through the living room where my Mother is sitting on the sofa watching Johnny Carson and frowning at both of us. We ignore her and he wraps his big jacket around me, the one that smells like a pipe and carries me outside. He tucks my bare feet carefully into the pockets of the jacket. It is chilly outside, November. I look up and there is a perfect round moon in the sky, full and yellow. My Da points to it and says, "There's a lot of cheese in there, sweetie" and I laugh. He laughs too and it is like big church bells ringing in my ears. He points out the fall constellations to me, sharply bright in a clear sky:
Pegasus
Perseus ("looks like a backwards k, sugarfoot")
Cassiopea ("a perfect w, she was the mother of andromeda and when you were born, I wanted to name you Cassiopea but your mother was having none of that nonsense")
Capella ("a house on it's side with a v shaped roof")
Three decades will pass and then some. One cold autumn night in November, I will go into my daughter's bedroom to wake her to come see the pretty sky. I will point out the constellations to her just as my Da did for me. I tell her that one day she might tell her children about the constellations. Privately I hope to myself that the world is still here for her to do that.
2) I am eight. My Da dies. It is Christmas Day. My mother comes in the house from the hospital where I am waiting with my 12 year old sister, Celia. We are babysitting our newborn sister, Jessie. Mother comes in the door with our sister Patrice. I hear her say on the mud porch, "How will I tell Maria?" and I know that he is dead. I am holding Jessie and I put her down in her bassinet. I look out of the window and wish that I could just fly away. I feel as if all the magic is gone from the world and it is. It will be months before I speak again. My Mother will take me to the doctor because she is worried about me. He tells her that I am purposefully mute and that I will talk when I am ready. I start talking after she sits down next to me on the bed and tells me that if I don't start talking, she will have to use up all of the money she was saving to buy Jessie a first birthday gift to pay to have me go to a special doctor who helps little girls learn to talk again. The first sentence out of my mouth?
"Don't do that. I'm sorry. I'll talk. What do you need me to say?" I think to myself that I will only talk when I have to. I think to myself that I wish that I was dead. Life becomes very hard for the next 10 years as my Mother and I do not get along well. She says that I am just like him. And it is not a compliment. I wonder for the millionth time how they ended up together. Later, when I am older, I will figure it out. She was his steady hand. He was her wild bird.
3) I am in fifth grade. Mike May chases me after school and gives me my first kiss. It is memorable because he stole it from me and because he tells me that his family is moving to Texas. After that kiss, I will be very confused. I will be unsure if I should hate him because I suddenly remember that when I lost my bell in the Christmas program, he gave me his bell to shake. I will never forget his name and always wonder what happened to him.
4) I am fifteen and am beginning to wonder if there is something wrong with me sexually. I don't seem to have the deep hunger for boys that my friends do and I am confused by the fact that when I do feel that butterflies in the stomach feeling it is not just for boys. I feel it for girls too. I feel it for my best friend, Nicole. Nic.
5) I am sixteen. Nic spends the night and as we are laying in bed talking, she begins to stroke my hair, tells me that I am the most beautiful girl in our class. She leans over and gently, gently kisses my mouth. I feel like I have been struck by lightning. I got the same feeling when Ben kissed me at that party, though, too. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? I liked both experiences. I will be unsure what or who I am until I go off to college. I will look up my symptoms in a medical book and decide that I am one of the 2% of the population who is bi-sexual. I feel no shame, just relief.
6) I am 18. I meet my college roommate. Her name is Bing, she tells me. She has a mullet haircut and I want to barf. She also has lots of music instruments. A guitar. A keyboard. A violin. A drum pad. Even a trumpet. She tells me that she is a music major. I want to say DUH? Instead, I sit on my bed, yank out my copy of Walt Whitman and start reading, hoping that she will not want to be friends. She sits on the other bed and announces to me that she is gay. Is that a problem? I put my finger in my book and give her a long look. No, I tell her. I am also gay, well...I am pretty sure anyway. She bursts out laughing. "I don't think so," she drawls in a deep Southern accent. "I think you are a straight chick who is curious." I don't answer her, just stare her down. Finally, she breaks. She says, "Sorry, you just don't look like any lesbian I've ever seen." I wryly tell her that we all don't have bad haircuts and no skirts in our closets. That shuts her up for a few days. But, she comes back. She drags me kicking and screaming into a friendship with her. I won't know it at the time, but she will be the love of my life. It will take me over two decades to realize this. She will tell me that she fell in love with me the first time that she saw me. To this day, I think she is lying, but she insists it is the truth. "When you said you were gay, I almost swallowed my gum," she says. "Because I just assumed you'd be another straight girl that I had the misfortune to crush on."
I look at her sometimes when we are just talking or after lovemaking and I wish that I hadn't waited so long to fall in love because she is simply the best person that I have ever known, the best partner in the world for a misfit like me. I am so so lucky.
6) I will come out to one of my best friends at age 22. I will tell her that I am bi-sexual. She will smile glassily at me and change the subject. Two days later, I will receive a letter in the mail from her telling me that she cannot be friends with someone who does sex with women. That it is just too creepy for her to think about. That she hopes that I didn't have any illusions about wanting to have sex with HER. (I didn't. Wasn't attracted one iota.) She does promise to pray for me. This will not be the only time that this happens to me but it will be the first time, so it will hurt the most. I will later begin to see that my sexuality is actually is a blessing. It will be a good guide to who is a true friend and who isn't. I will lose a few friends. Sometimes I will be surprised. The very religious friend I have will not care one bit if I sleep with men or women or both. The very free spirited friend I have will suddenly feel the need to say ridiculous things to me like, "You don't like...have a thing for me do you?" and then look offended when I burst out laughing. She won't last long. I will never know if it was because I was bi-sexual or because I didn't have a thing for her.
7) I will have my first long term relationship with Cory. It will begin when I am 24 and end when I am 31. She will be the one who makes me want to stay single for the rest of my life after we break up. She will try to kill herself the first time that I attempt to break up with her. I will stay another six months. It will be the most hellish time of my life. After she finally agrees to the break up and moves to Colorado, I will break out in a bad sweat every single time I think I see her in a shopping mall or a grocery store. She will drunk dial me for over a decade and I will take her call every single time because I have this irrational fear that if I don't, she will kill herself. She never does, of course. She never intended to in the first place and made very sure that I found her before she could die. I know this in my head, but my heart doesn't listen too well.
8) I will come out to my Mother at age 24 and she will disown me. Tell me that I am no longer her daughter. After I hang up the phone, I will lay down on the cold linoleum of my kitchen floor and start shaking so hard that I feel like I am having a seizure. I will get up after a few hours and go on with my life. She will die when I am 35, still not talking to me. She will leave me out of her substantial will. Because she only has three daughters. She actually writes this in her will. I won't cry when I get the letter from her lawyer, notifying me that I am not an heir. All those tears will be long gone. I will go to her funeral with my head up. I will not cry until I am in my car driving home and then I will have to pull over. I will suddenly miss my Mother so badly that I can hardly bear it.
9) I will drink too much. I will take too many drugs. I will decide to stop. I will stop. Well, most of the time. Once in awhile I will still imbibe too much. But, not on a weekly basis.
10) I will have a baby. Her father will be a one night stand from a Halloween party. I will almost name her Isis and then at the last moment, regain my sanity and name her Liv. I will be 41 years old and take to motherhood like a duck to water, surprising all of my friends who worried that I would do something stupid like forget to feed or change her or some such thing. I will surprise myself by being the sort of parent that my Da was and not the kind that my Mother was. Because I had been really, really scared that I would be. Like her. Instead, I will actually be a good mother, I think. No, I know. I AM a good mother.
12) When Liv is still a baby, I will move to a big rambling house in one of the oldest neighborhoods in the city. The house will have been built in 1918 and I will have to learn the ropes of home ownership from the ground up. Everything that can go wrong with the house will go wrong that first year. But, I will fall in love with this house. Liv will learn to walk in this house, learn to use the potty here and start drinking from her sippy cup instead of a bottle. When we are moving in, the 11 year old boy next door will come to see if I have any kids. He will see Liv standing in her playpen (known as baby jail to us) and say, "She'll do, I guess." He and Liv will become fast friends. When he leaves for college, she will be 8 years old and she will sit up in her tree house and weep on the day he leaves. He will come back every summer until his senior year and then he won't come home. We will find out later that he is in re-hab for the summer. He will come to tell us when he stops home to see his mother before he goes back for his senior year. He will bravely look at us and say, "I am an alcoholic." Liv and he will go up to her tree house to talk for a long time. When they come back down, Liv's back will be straight as a pin and she will hug him for a long time at the end of the driveway and then he will make her laugh by swinging her by her arm pits one last time in the front yard. She will come in after the goodbyes and sit on my lap in the kitchen chair for a long long long time. We will decide to bake him cookies every single week and send him funny cards and letters. We agree to send so much love that he will never feel alone.
13) When Liv is in kindergarten at Montessori, I will volunteer to help with something called "toddler lunch." I will meet my partner on the first day. Her name is Harriet. She will have a child who attends pre-school. Our job will be to help the toddlers with their lunches. Peel oranges. Open milk cartoons. Make sure that they eat their sandwiches first. It should not be that hard. But, it IS hard. One day, it will be a very bad day for both Harriet and me. She will have had to deal with a child who pooped his pants while he ate his sandwich. I will have had a child throw a tantrum because her mother forgot to send cookies. The child will throw a container of applesauce at me when I try to substitute. When Harriet returns to the cafeteria, we will both be in foul moods. A child will complain that he doesn't like sitting to the girl next to him. She will give him a stern look and say, "Henry, stop complaining and just eat your cupcake." She will look wickedly at me and mutter under her breath, "JUST FUCKING EAT YOUR GODDAMN CUPCAKE!" I will burst out laughing and she will too. We will go out for coffee after toddler lunch. Harriet will become my best friend, my partner in crime, the one who I can call ANYTIME for ANY reason and the first person I will tell when I find out that I am very, very sick and very, very scared. We will keep each other sane, talk each other down from many ledges. When one of us gets out of line, the other will belt out, "Just eat your cupcake!" and that will make us both laugh and return to ourselves.
14) I will fall in love with Bing at the ripe old age of 46. She will look across the table of the diner where we are sitting and say, "About fucking time, Maria...." when I tell her that I think I am in love with her. We will both be smiling. Big large.
We all have these moments. Big ones. Small ones. They change who we are. For good or bad. But, they shape us. Make us thankful, humble, vulnerable and true.
Care to share one of yours?
1) I am about five. My Da wakes me up in the middle of night (probably around 11 p.m.) and whispers, "Wanna see something pretty, baby love?" I whisper back that OH MY YES! I DO! He carries me down the stairs and through the living room where my Mother is sitting on the sofa watching Johnny Carson and frowning at both of us. We ignore her and he wraps his big jacket around me, the one that smells like a pipe and carries me outside. He tucks my bare feet carefully into the pockets of the jacket. It is chilly outside, November. I look up and there is a perfect round moon in the sky, full and yellow. My Da points to it and says, "There's a lot of cheese in there, sweetie" and I laugh. He laughs too and it is like big church bells ringing in my ears. He points out the fall constellations to me, sharply bright in a clear sky:
Pegasus
Perseus ("looks like a backwards k, sugarfoot")
Cassiopea ("a perfect w, she was the mother of andromeda and when you were born, I wanted to name you Cassiopea but your mother was having none of that nonsense")
Capella ("a house on it's side with a v shaped roof")
Three decades will pass and then some. One cold autumn night in November, I will go into my daughter's bedroom to wake her to come see the pretty sky. I will point out the constellations to her just as my Da did for me. I tell her that one day she might tell her children about the constellations. Privately I hope to myself that the world is still here for her to do that.
2) I am eight. My Da dies. It is Christmas Day. My mother comes in the house from the hospital where I am waiting with my 12 year old sister, Celia. We are babysitting our newborn sister, Jessie. Mother comes in the door with our sister Patrice. I hear her say on the mud porch, "How will I tell Maria?" and I know that he is dead. I am holding Jessie and I put her down in her bassinet. I look out of the window and wish that I could just fly away. I feel as if all the magic is gone from the world and it is. It will be months before I speak again. My Mother will take me to the doctor because she is worried about me. He tells her that I am purposefully mute and that I will talk when I am ready. I start talking after she sits down next to me on the bed and tells me that if I don't start talking, she will have to use up all of the money she was saving to buy Jessie a first birthday gift to pay to have me go to a special doctor who helps little girls learn to talk again. The first sentence out of my mouth?
"Don't do that. I'm sorry. I'll talk. What do you need me to say?" I think to myself that I will only talk when I have to. I think to myself that I wish that I was dead. Life becomes very hard for the next 10 years as my Mother and I do not get along well. She says that I am just like him. And it is not a compliment. I wonder for the millionth time how they ended up together. Later, when I am older, I will figure it out. She was his steady hand. He was her wild bird.
3) I am in fifth grade. Mike May chases me after school and gives me my first kiss. It is memorable because he stole it from me and because he tells me that his family is moving to Texas. After that kiss, I will be very confused. I will be unsure if I should hate him because I suddenly remember that when I lost my bell in the Christmas program, he gave me his bell to shake. I will never forget his name and always wonder what happened to him.
4) I am fifteen and am beginning to wonder if there is something wrong with me sexually. I don't seem to have the deep hunger for boys that my friends do and I am confused by the fact that when I do feel that butterflies in the stomach feeling it is not just for boys. I feel it for girls too. I feel it for my best friend, Nicole. Nic.
5) I am sixteen. Nic spends the night and as we are laying in bed talking, she begins to stroke my hair, tells me that I am the most beautiful girl in our class. She leans over and gently, gently kisses my mouth. I feel like I have been struck by lightning. I got the same feeling when Ben kissed me at that party, though, too. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? I liked both experiences. I will be unsure what or who I am until I go off to college. I will look up my symptoms in a medical book and decide that I am one of the 2% of the population who is bi-sexual. I feel no shame, just relief.
6) I am 18. I meet my college roommate. Her name is Bing, she tells me. She has a mullet haircut and I want to barf. She also has lots of music instruments. A guitar. A keyboard. A violin. A drum pad. Even a trumpet. She tells me that she is a music major. I want to say DUH? Instead, I sit on my bed, yank out my copy of Walt Whitman and start reading, hoping that she will not want to be friends. She sits on the other bed and announces to me that she is gay. Is that a problem? I put my finger in my book and give her a long look. No, I tell her. I am also gay, well...I am pretty sure anyway. She bursts out laughing. "I don't think so," she drawls in a deep Southern accent. "I think you are a straight chick who is curious." I don't answer her, just stare her down. Finally, she breaks. She says, "Sorry, you just don't look like any lesbian I've ever seen." I wryly tell her that we all don't have bad haircuts and no skirts in our closets. That shuts her up for a few days. But, she comes back. She drags me kicking and screaming into a friendship with her. I won't know it at the time, but she will be the love of my life. It will take me over two decades to realize this. She will tell me that she fell in love with me the first time that she saw me. To this day, I think she is lying, but she insists it is the truth. "When you said you were gay, I almost swallowed my gum," she says. "Because I just assumed you'd be another straight girl that I had the misfortune to crush on."
I look at her sometimes when we are just talking or after lovemaking and I wish that I hadn't waited so long to fall in love because she is simply the best person that I have ever known, the best partner in the world for a misfit like me. I am so so lucky.
6) I will come out to one of my best friends at age 22. I will tell her that I am bi-sexual. She will smile glassily at me and change the subject. Two days later, I will receive a letter in the mail from her telling me that she cannot be friends with someone who does sex with women. That it is just too creepy for her to think about. That she hopes that I didn't have any illusions about wanting to have sex with HER. (I didn't. Wasn't attracted one iota.) She does promise to pray for me. This will not be the only time that this happens to me but it will be the first time, so it will hurt the most. I will later begin to see that my sexuality is actually is a blessing. It will be a good guide to who is a true friend and who isn't. I will lose a few friends. Sometimes I will be surprised. The very religious friend I have will not care one bit if I sleep with men or women or both. The very free spirited friend I have will suddenly feel the need to say ridiculous things to me like, "You don't like...have a thing for me do you?" and then look offended when I burst out laughing. She won't last long. I will never know if it was because I was bi-sexual or because I didn't have a thing for her.
7) I will have my first long term relationship with Cory. It will begin when I am 24 and end when I am 31. She will be the one who makes me want to stay single for the rest of my life after we break up. She will try to kill herself the first time that I attempt to break up with her. I will stay another six months. It will be the most hellish time of my life. After she finally agrees to the break up and moves to Colorado, I will break out in a bad sweat every single time I think I see her in a shopping mall or a grocery store. She will drunk dial me for over a decade and I will take her call every single time because I have this irrational fear that if I don't, she will kill herself. She never does, of course. She never intended to in the first place and made very sure that I found her before she could die. I know this in my head, but my heart doesn't listen too well.
8) I will come out to my Mother at age 24 and she will disown me. Tell me that I am no longer her daughter. After I hang up the phone, I will lay down on the cold linoleum of my kitchen floor and start shaking so hard that I feel like I am having a seizure. I will get up after a few hours and go on with my life. She will die when I am 35, still not talking to me. She will leave me out of her substantial will. Because she only has three daughters. She actually writes this in her will. I won't cry when I get the letter from her lawyer, notifying me that I am not an heir. All those tears will be long gone. I will go to her funeral with my head up. I will not cry until I am in my car driving home and then I will have to pull over. I will suddenly miss my Mother so badly that I can hardly bear it.
9) I will drink too much. I will take too many drugs. I will decide to stop. I will stop. Well, most of the time. Once in awhile I will still imbibe too much. But, not on a weekly basis.
10) I will have a baby. Her father will be a one night stand from a Halloween party. I will almost name her Isis and then at the last moment, regain my sanity and name her Liv. I will be 41 years old and take to motherhood like a duck to water, surprising all of my friends who worried that I would do something stupid like forget to feed or change her or some such thing. I will surprise myself by being the sort of parent that my Da was and not the kind that my Mother was. Because I had been really, really scared that I would be. Like her. Instead, I will actually be a good mother, I think. No, I know. I AM a good mother.
12) When Liv is still a baby, I will move to a big rambling house in one of the oldest neighborhoods in the city. The house will have been built in 1918 and I will have to learn the ropes of home ownership from the ground up. Everything that can go wrong with the house will go wrong that first year. But, I will fall in love with this house. Liv will learn to walk in this house, learn to use the potty here and start drinking from her sippy cup instead of a bottle. When we are moving in, the 11 year old boy next door will come to see if I have any kids. He will see Liv standing in her playpen (known as baby jail to us) and say, "She'll do, I guess." He and Liv will become fast friends. When he leaves for college, she will be 8 years old and she will sit up in her tree house and weep on the day he leaves. He will come back every summer until his senior year and then he won't come home. We will find out later that he is in re-hab for the summer. He will come to tell us when he stops home to see his mother before he goes back for his senior year. He will bravely look at us and say, "I am an alcoholic." Liv and he will go up to her tree house to talk for a long time. When they come back down, Liv's back will be straight as a pin and she will hug him for a long time at the end of the driveway and then he will make her laugh by swinging her by her arm pits one last time in the front yard. She will come in after the goodbyes and sit on my lap in the kitchen chair for a long long long time. We will decide to bake him cookies every single week and send him funny cards and letters. We agree to send so much love that he will never feel alone.
13) When Liv is in kindergarten at Montessori, I will volunteer to help with something called "toddler lunch." I will meet my partner on the first day. Her name is Harriet. She will have a child who attends pre-school. Our job will be to help the toddlers with their lunches. Peel oranges. Open milk cartoons. Make sure that they eat their sandwiches first. It should not be that hard. But, it IS hard. One day, it will be a very bad day for both Harriet and me. She will have had to deal with a child who pooped his pants while he ate his sandwich. I will have had a child throw a tantrum because her mother forgot to send cookies. The child will throw a container of applesauce at me when I try to substitute. When Harriet returns to the cafeteria, we will both be in foul moods. A child will complain that he doesn't like sitting to the girl next to him. She will give him a stern look and say, "Henry, stop complaining and just eat your cupcake." She will look wickedly at me and mutter under her breath, "JUST FUCKING EAT YOUR GODDAMN CUPCAKE!" I will burst out laughing and she will too. We will go out for coffee after toddler lunch. Harriet will become my best friend, my partner in crime, the one who I can call ANYTIME for ANY reason and the first person I will tell when I find out that I am very, very sick and very, very scared. We will keep each other sane, talk each other down from many ledges. When one of us gets out of line, the other will belt out, "Just eat your cupcake!" and that will make us both laugh and return to ourselves.
14) I will fall in love with Bing at the ripe old age of 46. She will look across the table of the diner where we are sitting and say, "About fucking time, Maria...." when I tell her that I think I am in love with her. We will both be smiling. Big large.
We all have these moments. Big ones. Small ones. They change who we are. For good or bad. But, they shape us. Make us thankful, humble, vulnerable and true.
Care to share one of yours?
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
Truths for Mature Adults
I found this somewhere a month or so ago and now I can't remember where....so can't credit the original author but it says it all.
TRUTHS FOR MATURE ADULTS
1) I think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.
2) Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.
3) I totally take back all the times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.
4) There is a great need for a sarcasm font.
5) How the hell are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?
6) Was learning cursive really necessary?
7) Map Quest really needs to start their directions on #5. I'm pretty sure I know how to get out of my own neighborhood.
8) Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.
9) I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least kind of tired.
10) Bad decisions make good stories.
11) You never know when it will strike but there comes a moment at work when you know that you just aren't going to do anything productive for the rest of the day.
12) I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my 10 page technical report that I swear I did not make any changes to.
13) I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.
14) I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday more kisses begin with Miller Lite than Kay.
15) I wish Google Maps had an "Avoid Ghetto" routing option.
16) I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.
17) How many times is it appropriate to say "What?" before you just nod and smile because you still didn't hear or understand a word they said?
18) I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars team up to prevent a jerk from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers and sisters!
19) Even under ideal conditions people have trouble finding their car keys in a pocket or a cell phone. I bet everyone can find and push the snooze button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time, every time.
20) The first testicular guard, the "Cup" was used in hockey in 1874 and the first helmet was used in 1974. That means it only took 100 years for men to realize that their brain is important too.
Just sayin'....
TRUTHS FOR MATURE ADULTS
1) I think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.
2) Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.
3) I totally take back all the times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.
4) There is a great need for a sarcasm font.
5) How the hell are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?
6) Was learning cursive really necessary?
7) Map Quest really needs to start their directions on #5. I'm pretty sure I know how to get out of my own neighborhood.
8) Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.
9) I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least kind of tired.
10) Bad decisions make good stories.
11) You never know when it will strike but there comes a moment at work when you know that you just aren't going to do anything productive for the rest of the day.
12) I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my 10 page technical report that I swear I did not make any changes to.
13) I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.
14) I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday more kisses begin with Miller Lite than Kay.
15) I wish Google Maps had an "Avoid Ghetto" routing option.
16) I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.
17) How many times is it appropriate to say "What?" before you just nod and smile because you still didn't hear or understand a word they said?
18) I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars team up to prevent a jerk from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers and sisters!
19) Even under ideal conditions people have trouble finding their car keys in a pocket or a cell phone. I bet everyone can find and push the snooze button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time, every time.
20) The first testicular guard, the "Cup" was used in hockey in 1874 and the first helmet was used in 1974. That means it only took 100 years for men to realize that their brain is important too.
Just sayin'....
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