Monday, November 28, 2011

My View from the Top

This week we're throwing a virtual baby shower of sorts. Kim, from the Zook Book Nook is expecting her third little girl this week, and in anticipation of the arrival Stasha, our listicle maven, has moved her link to Kim's site.  This week's inspiration, 10 of our favorite photos.

The rain slowly began to fall. The weeks prior we have outlined our intentions for photos after our ceremony.
With each falling drop, our plans evolved. In place of a timely photo shoot on the beach, a few candids.
This my favorite.

Our purse strings and patience were tested. Nearly two years after the wedding day we finally escaped. Paradise at our fingertips.

Those first few weeks of survival, sleep stolen in any moment given. She had yet to discover her thumb, so the pacifier was her solace, my refuge from feedings.

Generations separate them. She recognized her own eyes in her great grandmothers. A smile shared.

Many surprises disclosed on this June morning.
First, upon arrival sharing that the house they thought they were invited to tour had already been purchased. Then walking room to room, the nursery location reveals the anticipation of another grandchild.

Winter 2009-2010
Piles and piles of snow holding us captive in our home.

The rosy cheeks reminiscent of her sister's. Her small body dwarfed by her father's large hands.

The transition from a home of three to four over, as the new norm has been established. Stealing a moment from play, daddy and his two little girls share an embrace.

Her disposition truly is like that of the Sunshine. Taking a moment from digging, she offers a smile.

She had waited all summer for the fall. She looked forward to being a "soccer girl", for kicking, running, and scoring. She longed for the shin guards, cleats, and soccer braids. Her enthusiasm the only motivation for his early morning wake up on Saturdays.

Thursday, November 24, 2011

Thanksging Prose

'Twas the night before Thanksgiving,
And while the children did rest.
He hurried in the kitchen,
Doing what he does best.
His ritual perfected, as 
We'll share a huge feast,
Of stuffing, potatoes, corn,
And an organic roast beast.
Chopping, dicing,
His menu, so grand.
My job so simple,
Just offer a hand.
Our table is set
Eighteen, can you believe it?
There's room at this table,
We'll make it, we will fit!

The hurry, the panic,
Sets in night before.
What were we thinking?
What is in store?

A house filled with family,
Our tradition, our Day.
I cannot in the heart of me, 
Think of a better way. 

The chaos, the bodies, 
The drinking, the food.  
The laughter, the smiles, 
The altogether good mood. 

Each year I feel lucky 
Altogether, we're blessed.
To have a home, a family,
A day with limited stress.

I am thankful for family,
The young and the old.
For the food on the table,
and the vodka- kept cold!
It's easy to complain,
When things don't go your way,
But I'm so glad we have the respite
Each year of Thanksgiving Day.
A time where we truly think,
About all we treasure.
How we made it another year,
Survived all we've weathered.

I am lucky this year,
So much to be thankful for.
A husband that cooks, works hard,
I adore.
Two lovely daughters,
Filled with energy and spark, 
Running, Laughing, 
From sunrise to dark.  
Family and friends
Whose support, unreal.
Many who will join us,
And share in this meal.

So Happy Thanksgiving to you,
Whomever you are,
May your days be surrounded
With love near or far.

Linking up with Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop. This week I combined the following prompts.
2.) What traditions do you carry on with your family each year?

4.) Write a poem about something you’re thankful for this Thanksgiving.
Mama’s Losin’ It

Monday, November 21, 2011


This Monday Jen chose an interesting list for us mavens of  listicles to make: 10 reasons why you do or do not want more children! OR, if you don’t have kids, 10 reasons why you don’t, including if you ever will.
Having branched off topic last week, I couldn't do it again? Right?
I'm not the rule breaking type, however I couldn't get into this list.
So alas,  I did it again.
I'm still keeping the "kids" topic, but instead this week for listicles, I'm thinking back to Sisters! Sorry Joey. When I was pregnant with Maeve, I did not know if She was a She. I had told those asking that I didn't care. I wanted a healthy and happy baby. That's the morally responsible response, correct? However, deep down in the crevices of my heart I hoped that Mo would be lucky enough to have a sister. When they announced "it's a girl" that cold January night, my own lifetime of shared memories with my sister overwhelmed me as I thought, how lucky for my own girls to have each other.
Sisters are...
1. Playmates
Always having a guest for a tea party or oponent in a game of Candyland.

2. Confidants
Having an ear to whisper, and giggles to share.

3. Stylists
Wardrobes to match and when older "borrow".

4. Partners in Crime
Having an extra set of ears, eyes, and imaginations to torment parents.

5. Cheerleaders
Offering guidance, support, and that cruel dose of reality when needed.

6. Sources of Inspiration
Finding a desire to do what the other has accomplished.

7. Each Others Conscience
Knowing and enforcing the rules, just because it's right.

Jealousy, Envy, and all that jazz, healthy competition (I pray).

9. Nurse
In stolen moments, sharing hugs and kisses.

10. Best Friends
The best gift I have given them, each other.

Happy Birthday Dear Sis!

Friday, November 18, 2011

On the Road

"Are we there yet?" my brother's voice echoes from the back of the minivan. Piercing our ears.
"NO!" they yell simultaneously, their voices strained.
His shoulders hunch over the wheel, as she adjusts the pillow behind her neck. Lying back, her head faces the ceiling as a moan escapes her pursed lips.
My poor parents.
Inching forward, we make minuscule progress.
Kicking my black flip flops under my seat, I attempt to contort myself into a comfortable position. A nearly impossible task in a minivan, I read the title of the novel again:
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,
I think, do you Maya?
My mind wanders, does Maya Angelou truly know how it feels to be caged?
Or in our case trapped
in a minivan,
on a summer afternoon,
in August,
escaping with other tourists from a pending hurricane,
Only a few days before the five of us successfully managed the eight hour drive to the Outer Banks of North Carolina without bloodshed or mutiny.
For three days, we leisurely lounge ocean side. Basking in the sun, as the waves crash along the shoreline during the afternoon, and playing in the community pool during the night.  Our family vacation in its infancy, when ominous news faces us.
My skin has yet to reach it's optimum shade of brown when a buzz fills the air of the rental community. Words like "evacuation" and "mandatory exit" swirl around. Each successive day, the outlook more grim.
On day three, the newscaster delivers the report,  mandatory evacuation for all non-residents.
I refuse to believe it, dragging my book and chair across the road to the beach in hope of finding solace in the sand.
The red flag flies high in the sky, as the life guards sit in their stands. The waves are already starting to gain speed and height, as the storm inches closer to the barrier islands.
I stand in disbelief, tears pooling in my eyes.
Our family vacation over before it truly starts.
Back to the car, where we sit and wait.
Crawling along the highway amongst a sea of other families suffering the same fate.
Vacations cut short by Mother Nature.
Hour by hour, mile by mile we slowly retreat.
Our emotions raw, our patience tested, as we survive the unexpected.
Pulling into the hotel parking lot, I feel hope surge in my belly.
My mother reveals she has secured a hotel room just outside Busch Gardens in Williamsburg Va. for the next few days.
And so our family vacation continues without the sand and surf.
Write On Edge: Red-Writing-HoodThis week we asked you to take us on a road trip. So much can happen within the confines of a car, from fraught confessions to detours for ice cream, so we’re looking forward to seeing where you take us.

Remember, your characters can drive as many miles as they want, but they should do it in less than 300 words. Please only link up if you’ve done the prompt, and remember: thoughtful and constructive comments help us grow as writers and as a community

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

I Used to Be....

I used to be fun.

I used to be a night owl.
I used to be a riot.
I used to be easy going.
I used to be relaxed.
I used to sleep late.
I used to dress stylish.
I used to work out.
I used to work out of the house.
I used to be someone else.

Sometimes, I miss that person.
She was pretty cool, now that I think back to her.

That girl who's biggest worries were reserved for things like wondering if her pants made her ass look too big, or which restaurant for dinner on a Friday night.
Mortgage refinacing and nap training were not part of her vocabulary.

I think back to my time before becoming a parent longingly. If I could drop in for a moment, I think I would shake myself, and yell, "Sleep more! Eat out more! Vacation more! Spend more time just the two of you alone."

Don't get me wrong.
I love my life now.
We are truly blessed to have two smart, beautiful and strong little girls, a home we intend to live in forever, and a lifestyle that permits us treats like Laurie Berkner Band tickets for Christmas and occasional nights out to dinner.
But, when I think back to that carefree easy life, I'm jealous a bit,
Especially the way my ass used to look in those jeans.

Monday, November 14, 2011

Shore to Please

It's Monday!
Of course, you know what that means?
Listicles with the lovely Stasha at the Good Life. This week's list is a good one, inspired by Hopes at Staying Afloat , 10 Things that Make a Perfect Vacation.
Now, inspiration has taken me away, swept me away to the Shore.
The Jersey Shore.
when I write of the shore, my definition includes Seaside and towns south of Long Beach Island.
While there are towns above this point, I have limited knowledge and therefore have not chosen to include them in this piece.

Five Reasons why the Jersey Shore is NOT what you see on MTV

1. Families 
If you head to the beach on any given Saturday or Sunday between Memorial Day and Labor Day, families populate the beaches. Extended families: grandparents bopping their grand babies on their knees while toddlers dig in the sand.  Kids collecting sand fleas and hermit crabs, while the adults sit in their respective chairs drinking and talking.
My family
2. Not Everyone is Italian
nor do they want to be
Cultural pride rings strong at the Shore. However, it's not resevered to singularly to those of Italian descent.   Never have more Irish descendants or those who are Irish for the day,  been in one place, then Irish Weekend  in North Wildwood.  
While no specific days are dedicated to these ethnicities, German, Polish, Slovak, and Greek pride are evident through t-shirts and flags too.

When Irish Eyes are Smiling

3. Dress
There are some who dress like they are heading to the clubs. Usually that demographic is categorized to towns such as Wildwood, Seaside, and the like. Visit a few other towns, and you have entered the land of Lilly & Tory,
 Polo & Jcrew.
Don't know these designers?
If you're heading to Cape May,  Ocean City, Sea Isle, Avalon, or Stone Harbor,
then you better learn!
Think Preppy!
Polos! Pearls! Khaki! Pink & Green!
A lot different then the hair puff & porn star heels.

Bry in his Polo

Me in my Lilly polo
4. Boardwalk
Okay, I will admit the Wildwood boardwalk is very similar to that of Seaside, home to Jersey Shore cast.
BUT, head a few miles up the Parkway and Ocean City awaits.
Those boards are clean and family centric.
There are nights dedicated to families for heaven's sake and the town itself is dry!
No liquor stores or licenses in the entire place.

Clean boardwalk

Family friendly rides
5. Cape May
This town alone serves as the reason why the Jersey Shore is NOT solely confined to the scenes on tv.
Historical the oldest seashore in the country, Cape May takes pride in its history. Weeks dedicated to its Victorian hertiage fill the calendar as its shores are dotted with families and couples. A popular destination for beach weddings and commitment ceremonies, it's venues offer close proximity to the beach. Cape May is filled with small hotels, bed & breakfasts, and large Victorian homes. Bike riders fill the streets as the small, independent shops sell various home wears and apparel.

Hotel Alcott

The newlyweds circa 2005
Cape May
However, I am realist. It isn't all made up. There is truth in what you see on that screen,
and so I offer:

Five Reasons Why the Jersey Shore IS what you see on MTV

1. Tan
Skin cancer is a real threat.
Doctors and other professionals have warned of the ill effects of a suntan. But this does not apply on Jersey shore beaches. Many cannot get tan enough.
Comments such as "You look so much healthier with color."
and "Are you sick, maybe you need some sun." are often regular expressions heard in social circles, including my family. It is bad, yes, but why do I feel so much more attractive with that bit of color?

See that browned leg, that's my mother in law's natural state.
She'd kill me if I put her whole pic on here, but she'd also tell you she's pale.

2. Beach Wear
If you ever feel bad about your body, head to the Jersey shore?
Because it appears that with the sun, the shore brings out a lot of self confidence.
A lot of Skin
Is shown on those beaches, often by those who should keep more to the imagination.
I won't lie. My self esteem does go up after comparing my own flawed body to the others wearing string bikinis and tiny bottoms.

I know, but compared to the people around, I feel fine!

3. Alcohol
The signs displayed at the beach access points warn that alcohol is prohibited, however this is rarely enforced. Frankly, I've never seen anyone told NOT to bring their drink to the beach.  Most coolers (of those families I mentioned in part 1) are filled with wine coolers and beer. Secured in their cozies, alcohol is consumed in mass quantities during a Shore vacation.
Be it at the beach, or on the deck or at dinner or the bar, alcohol is a must have!

4. Attire
While many of the beaches seem to have a dress code of khaki, pink, and green, there are places where the porn star look is embraced. The Wildwood boardwalk is one of those. Skirts covering the bare minimum paired with deep. plunging tanks parade the boards while the guys dress in t-shirts and jeans.
There's also the large selection of "classy" t-shirts available in many of the shops.
Shirts that say stuff like "Slippery When Wet" or "DTF".  
Definitely not my cup of tea, but it's there, for all to enjoy,
And for those of us with children, to explain.

5. People
There are a multitude of families that inhabit the shore.
However, the single scene is still in effect.
Time to bring out the straigtening iron, mascara, and the heels, because it's always ladies night somewhere!
Bars, Clubs, & the Boardwalk offer just the place to stroll, check out the scene and find that special someone for the night, or for a few hours.
One can never go too tight or too short or too tan,
okay, maybe too tight and too short, but defintely not too tan!


The Jersey Shore, the place where families and singles can play, drink in excess, and tan.
 I can think of no more perfect place to spend those hot summer days!
Only 6 months, and 14 days until Memorial Day 2012, the offical start of summer at the Shore!


Friday, November 11, 2011

Last night,

Last night,
 I raised my glass.
Last night,
 I threw up my hands, and screamed like a school girl.
Last night,
 I was surrounded by decandance, alcohol, and profanity.
Last night,
 I gave up the minivan and the music class.
Last night,
 I abandoned the responsibilites of mommyhood.

I sang.

I screamed.

I clapped.

I danced.

I relaxed.

I rocked....hard.

Thursday, November 10, 2011


Descending the cement staircase, I push open the heavy metal door. The voices echo throughout the large auditorium that also serve as the school's gymnasium and cafeteria. Rectangular tables are pushed together as a sea of bodies fill the space. Eagerly, I begin searching for a familiar face.
Waving his arm high, I spy my father. Dressed in his khaki pants and polo, he leisurely sips a mug of coffee. Holding the red ticket in his hand, I rush over.
Having survived another hour of catechism class, this breakfast is most appreciated. Once a month, the reward for my Catholic duty, breakfast in the basement of our church's school.
Tossing the yellow folder onto the table, I throw pleasantries at the adults at the table.
Our church is small, and many of the families have been parishioners for decades. Those faces are so familiar, as I grew up amongst them. The kisses I offer on cheeks has been dolled out many times before, and serves as another obstacle to procuring my brunch.
Returning to the doorway, I hand my red ticket to the matronly ladies working the door. Nodding, they permit me to walk past, and find my place in the line.
Within minutes, I am at the metal food stand. The blue plastic tray in hand, I grab the utensils from their plastic containers. Fork, spoon, and knife placed on the tray as I grab a few extra napkins.  I spy my great Uncle Mickey behind the glass divide. Seeing me, he offers me a smile and asks if I want some extra pancakes.
Declining, instead I ask for a glass of milk. Taking the plastic cup, he fills it three quarters of the way. I could choose one of the small plastic glasses of orange juice or tomato, but milk works best for this feast.
Handing the plate to the next man in the line, I move down a bit. Wearing his white hat, I ask for more of the potatoes. His home fries are legendary, and I never can seem to have enough on my plate. Placing the metal spoon into the container, he dollops a heavy heaping onto my plate.
My own smile widens as I decide in that moment my mom and sis will be jealous and no, they can't have that extra bite.
It is only a few years later I will meet his granddaughter in homeroom during our freshmen year of high school, and become her best friend. We are given his recipe, but never successfully can recreate those potatoes. On this day, the man in the white hat is simply the potato guy.
My plate is handed off to the next elderly gentlemen. Another great uncle, I suppose, as I simply categorize them all as relatives.The men, the older members of our church, have this system mastered.  Scrambled eggs and pieces of bacon find their way onto the plate, and then a piece of ham steak and one plump sausage.
Carefully he extends the overfilled plate to me across the counter. I grab a dinner roll and pat of butter. Placing it all on my tray, I am ready.
The trek to the table is harrowing, as I navigate amongst the crowd of those in their Sunday bests while balancing a plate of food, utensils and a glass of milk. Dodging winter coats and cups of coffee, I find my family.
Placing the plate before me, I settle into the metal chair. I place the sausage on my father's plate, as he adds ketchup  and offers me thanks.
I take my fork and begin.
My most favorite place to eat as a child: Sunday brunch in our Church's basement.

This post comes at a difficult point in my life, as only this week we have discovered the Archdiocese is closing our Church. My memories of our small, neighborhood Church fill my childhood, as both sides of my family were members. Initially a parish for those of Slovak decent, the parish was like family, filled with piergoies, haluski, & stuffed cabbages.  While I no longer live in the area, I still considered it "My Church"

This post was inspired by Mama Kat's Pretty Much World Famous Writer's Workshop
3.) Write about your favorite place to eat when you were a child.

Monday, November 7, 2011

For Four Years...

High School 1992-1996
Hollywood has made a mint on the trials and tribulations associated with this tortured demographic.
Not quite a kid, definitely not an adult. That somewhere in between filled with self-consciousness, hormonal surges, and doubt.
Stasha over at the Good Life has initiated this month, November as Babes in the Bleachers Month! An entire month of which one can link up their own memories of high school and join in the road trip filled with what I assume is enough Clearasil and Teen Spirit to keep those memories alive for years to come.
What doesn't scream insecurity and embarrassment more then high school?

1. Friends
My best friends were really a Hodge podge of people whom if I try I cannot truly categorize today.
I don't know how we ended up as a group. I seriously am still perplexed. I have only kept in touch with one friend, Ashley since high school, while others I have reconnected with on facebook and a few others have seemed to fall off the face of the earth. When I look back, I wonder how we found each other and why we stayed friends for those four years?

2. Over- Involvement 
I played field hockey for a few years, did stats for the boys' track team for a year, threw the javelin my senior year, was in the school play my freshman year, the musical my sophomore year, and was an active member in our chapter of SADD, which was the equivalent of the school's activity board. On top of all that I swam on our local swim team year round and worked as a life guard and swim instructor. I did all these activities but honestly, I don't think I ever truly felt like I found my niche. A chameleon would be a good analogy as I always seemed to be doing something else.

3. Academics
I never really applied myself. I never really studied, completed most of my papers and assignments last minute, and didn't put too much extra effort into academics, yet I was a member of the National Honor Society. I did really well in college when I actually applied myself and often wonder what high school might have been like if I actually studied.

4. My Hair
I was not a Jersey girl. I did not tease.
Dye was my best friend.
Throughout my high school year tenure, my hair ranged in shades from light nearly platinum blond, to red, copper, auburn, and brown. I wore it long. Often, bored in English class my junior year, I would french braid it as the teacher lectured. I then chopped it in layers, similar to Jennifer Aniston, aka the Rachel. At graduation, I sported banged bob just under my chin, dyed a light brown with blond highlights.

5.  Self-Image
When I look back at photos of high school, I cannot believe I thought I was fat. I swam four times a week, ate okay and was sixteen, so my metabolism was at it's peak. Athletically built in what seemed a sea of toothpicks, the majority of my friends were about 5 feet tall and weighed around 100 lbs.
As an adult, I understand my complex. However, when I do look back, Damn! I did look good.

6. Mexico.
My Spanish teacher somehow coordinated a trip to Mexico for many of the Freshmen Spanish students. Nearly twenty sets of parents agreed to send their children to Mexico with only two adult chaperons. 
Sounds kind of funny now, but away we went! 
 Staying with a host family for a week, brushing our teeth with bottled water and watching Casper the Friendly Ghost in Spanish, it was intended to be full Spanish immersion. During the morning, small group Spanish instruction while the afternoons were filled with trips to local sites.  My housemate, Laurie and I spoke minimal conversational Spanish, as we had only had 3/4 of a year of it. In the end we may have exchanged five words with our host family.
Our next destination, Acapulco!
We then spent 3 days in Acapulco visiting the beach and a water park.
How a trip to Acapulco was educational, I still don't know?

7. Spain.
Again, this same Spanish teacher got a last minute deal on a five day, four night excursion to the Costa del Sol, Spain during my senior year. With my best friend Ashley and ten other people we flew across the world with only one chaperon to visit the coast of Spain. He had managed to squeeze as much culture into those few days as humanly possible. It was one of the most memorable moments of high school for me.
8. Prom
When I look back, I could kick myself.
I had no confidence with guys.
None, nada, zilch!
 I guess, having seen my fair share of Molly Ringwald movies, watching too much My So-Called Life and finding way too much similarities with those kids in Can't Hardly Wait.  I thought some guy was secretly panning for me and the week before Prom he would finally get the courage to ask.
 Where were you Jake Ryan? Jordan Catalano? Anyone?
Nope. Nothing.
Instead, I assumed I would just go with my best guy friend Jason.
Then, another friend, who HAD a boyfriend, asked Jay to go. Her boyfriend, already graduated and did not want to go. So, I was left alone, to my own devices. Either stay home or go alone.  
I went alone.
In the end, the prom wasn't anything special. I had a fabulous dress, decent shoes, and nice hair. .
Black, Jessica McClintock with a kimono neck detail with two frog buttons and a kick ass slit up the side. I looked pretty darn good if I say so myself.
I more then made up for my lack of formal experiences in college, thanks to Bry's fraternity formals and our senior ball. These events were much more fun and enjoyable. Perhaps the open bar had something to do with it?

9. My car
My senior year, my grandmother got a new car and her mint green Chevy Celebrity sedan was given to me. I named her Ariel, after the Little Mermaid, and drove that thing into the ground. The heater only occasionally worked. I had an ice scraper stuffed into the tape deck to get the radio to work, and the cloth roof was stapled to prevent it from falling. I loved it. I swear my mother was ecstatic to have someone to share in taxiing, getting to school early, pick ups from after school activities, sports, parties, dances, etc.. I loved having the freedom to come and go as I wanted. I had one rule though, if I drove, someone else had to pump my gas. I don't think I pumped gas myself until I was nearly twenty years old.

10. My social life
If I think back, there really wasn't too much turmoil in my high school years. I never skipped class. I always was on time, and if I was late I did have a note. When I was home sick, I usually was sick or at least faking it, but still home. I got in early for club meetings and often stayed late for practice. I actually got along well with my mom most of the time. I never had a curfew, just had to call if I'd be late. I guess I was a good kid. The kind parents wish for, and the kind I hope I have. I never really did anything to give my parents the impression I wasn't responsible and honest, because I really was responsible and honest. Like I said, I never did drugs, smoked, drank only a few times never to the point of intoxication, and never had a boyfriend. They didn't have to worry about dating because I didn't date. Teachers seemed to like me, and I never got into any trouble.
I guess I was relatively boring kid.

Friday, November 4, 2011


The silver bowl sits atop the counter. Overflowing with sweetened bliss. The candy accumulated from our three (yes 3!) trick or treating adventures piles high.
They know the drill.
Finish your meal, and as reward, on piece awaits.
Will it be a package of lemonade flavored Mike & Ikes?
new this season, I suppose, as Just Born was a sponsor at the Boo at the Zoo event on Sunday
Perhaps, it will be a packet of sweet tarts?
Their sweetened tart flavor causing ones tongue and face to curl up.
Chocolate is always a good choice. Will it be, Hershey's bar? Mini Snickers? Milky Way?

She turns her face towards the bowl. Balancing herself on the chair, she stands above.
Focused on her task.
She fingers a package of M&M's.
Ah, Good choice, I think.
But releases them, and continues to dig.
Laffy Taffy, Smarties, Starbursts, and Swedish Fish:
Each item examined, closely drawn to her face, then released.
Back into the pool of candy.
The orange wrapper is visible, and I notice it.
How can I not?
It's my most favorite Halloween candy, Reese's Peanut Butter cups.
Yes, cups.
Two cups.
The next street over most of the houses give out full size bars, and this piece a relic of that stroll.
Perhaps she has not seen it, but alas, her fingers find the package.
With conviction, she says, "I choose this!".
Raising the orange wrapped candy over her head, I fake a smile.
"Oh good" I sigh, "Peanut Butter cups are so yummy".
I had planned to eat those after bedtime.
To savor each yummy chocolate peanut buttery cup alone, in private, without tiny fingers begging for a morsel.

Damn her.

Then she does it.
"You want to share, Mama?" she starts. "I got two. One for me and one for you".
Who is this creature? This blue eyed, dirty blond child willing to share her Halloween candy which she earned, where did she come from?

Damn her.

"Of course, I'll share". I say.
The smile stretches across her face and she takes a giant bite.
"I like peanut butter cups". she says.
"Me too, Mo. Me too."

Thursday, November 3, 2011

What a Trip!

Mama Kat's Prompt this week:
1.) Did you create a list of 22 things you’ve done in your life last week?
 Yes, Here it is.  
This week, choose one item from your list and elaborate! We want the story

20. had to rename our honeymoon to a babymoon after discovering myself pregnant three weeks before departure.

I sat back down into the chair. My eyes glanced across the table. Placing the glass to his mouth, his eyes met mine.
I mouthed, "Nope", as the conversation continued around.
His eyes widened.
I believe it may have been fear I saw in Bry's eyes at that moment.
"Another toast", Lynsay said.
My glass of wine raised back in the air, as we congratulated our most dear friend, Steve on his new position.
This celebratory dinner in honor of Steve happened to coincide with another first.
One that had been disclosed to Bryan only a few hours before.
It was still only a possibility, a perhaps, and maybe.

However, it was the very first evening I suspected I was pregnant.

Between appetizer and entree at our favorite Seafood restaurant, I had excused myself to the restroom anticipating a certain monthly arrival.
Already a day late, I was sure it would come.
It never did.

Visiting my mother in law the following day down the shore, I knew it would arrive on the beach. Of course, what could be more embarrassing then an incident in a bathing suit?
The day was spent basking in the sun, wading in the sea, and reading uninterrupted.

It never came.

We dined alone at a local bar, and taking it's absence as a sign, I ordered a soda.
No alcohol for me, as Bry shook his head in disbelief.

Could I really be pregnant?

Over a meal of cheesesteaks and fries, we developed a plan of action. In an attempt to avoid any family members, we would purchase two different pregnancy tests at the drug store down the shore. However, we would wait until we arrived home that evening to test.
It would only be a few hours and then we would know with certainty.

Arriving at our house, we abandoned our bags in the car and fled to our bedroom.
Having consumed a rather large iced tea during the hour and half ride home, my bladder easily performed its duty with the test.
Placing the plastic stick onto the counter, I walked into our bedroom.
Lying on the bed, his arms covered his eyes as he spoke.
"Do you think we can handle this?" he said. Lifting his arms off his face, looking straight into mine.
"I sure hope so," I began, "I mean, if we're pregnant".
I watched the minute pass, and then another, and then another.
Three minutes.
Exactly what the directions has instructed.
Walking into the bathroom, my stomach and heart jumped as I reached for the stick.


Tears began to fill my eyes, as I could hear the sobs over take my body.
Rising from the bed, he wrapped his arms around me.
"I thought this is what you wanted" he asked, kissing my head as he finished.
"It is". I said, "but what about our trip?"
Only three weeks from that day we were scheduled to spend seven days on the island of St. Barth's. The honeymoon we had spent nearly two years saving and planning for, was less then a month away.
Now, how would pregnancy throw a wrench into those plans?
"I guess you just won't drink" he said, laughing.

And that's the only thing I did miss.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Three and a half

Dissociative identity disorder is a psychiatric diagnosis and describes a condition in which a person displays multiple distinct identities (known as alters or parts), each with its own pattern of perceiving and interacting with the environment.

While this is the definition of Dissociative Identity Disorder (aka multiple personality), I think it also is a fitting definition for a three and half year old, or at least MY three and a half year old.

I just don't get.
One moment, she is loving and cuddly. Playing nicely with her toys and her sister. Sharing, laughing, and smiling,
Everything is good.

Then it happens.

Like a switch,
Her alter ego takes over.
Thrashing, kicking, screaming.
She has no control.

Who is this child?
How did she get here?
What the f--k did I do to her?
Then the realization takes hold.

I told her no.

Lunch could not be Halloween candy,
or I requested she share the five toys she was hoarding
or nap time had arrived.

In response, an action comparable to Regan from the Exorcist, takes hold.
As her body contorts and her hair tosses from left to right.
Primal screams from the pit of her stomach fill the air.

I am at a loss.

I try to stop her.
Raising my own voice, I start.
"Time Out" I yell.
"Do I have to take away Jessie? Mermaid? Red Dog? Peyton?"
Her smug response only agitates me more.
"No Video, tonight!"
"No Chick"
 No, No, No....

I can feel my own blood boil, as profanity fills my brain and whispers escape under my breath as her rant continues.

A new approach,
I pick her up,
Toss her into her bed.
Tell her not to get out.
Shutting the door (okay slamming the door), I walk away.
Leaving her interchanging sobs with screams.
I am done.

Mere minutes pass as I hear footsteps on the hardwood floor.
The sound of the knob turning echos in the hall.
She opens the door,
Tear stained cheeks, with eyes face downward.
Her breathing strained as she chokes,

Mama, I

I gather her up in my arms, reminding her to breathe in and out, as her face buries itself in my shoulder. Her body heavy as her chest rises and falls quickly against my own.
It's over.
"I'm sorry." she mutters as she looks up to me.
Her eyes are different now, as I see contrition and love, which had been missing earlier.

Three is tough.

Kick me in the ass tough.

I love my kid, but I won't lie.
In those moments,
I really don't like her too much.