Drunken ramblings

I'm trapped in a sandy bed with a 2 year old, a 6 month old sleeping in a pack-n-play 3 feet from said bed. The walls here are so thin you can hear someone (who shall remain nameless) fart in the next room, even with the door shut. The lights are all off. The sleep sheep is set on "rain" mode and there are probably ten minutes left until it turns off by itself. I ate cheese quesadillas with jalepenos for supper at the bar next to the resort we are staying at after a long day of drinking tequila.
The room is spinning, but only a little. There is a mosquito buzzing in my ear. The four older kids are outside the window playing baseball with a neighbor boy.
So, NO. I don't want to have sex with you right now. I want to read my book by the light of the booklight. I want to fall asleep without a wet spot on the sheets for the sand to stick to. But I want you to love me like you did before all these babies and all this fat and insecurity took over. I know you won't leave me. I know you won't hurt me. I know you will do what you can to make life good for me and for the babies. They won't be babies long, you know. But I want it to be out there that I love you more now than I did yesterday, even if I don't feel like a little booty. I love you more than last week or last year. It just keeps growing, but I wonder if you see that.
I wonder if you realize I'm not glamorous for a reason. I wonder if you care. I see how you look at me and some days it just breaks my heart. Other days its all I can do to care. I know you love me. I just wish you'd tell me sometimes.

The gift of Imperfection

Valium. I'm not on it, but maybe I should be. It was the drug of choice to make housewives of the 1950's complacent. I could use a little complacency. No, I'm more like a 60's/80's mix--all jumped up on white crosses, cocaine, coffee...whatever it takes to get me through. My blood sometimes feels like its on fire. Definitely an upper kind of girl, opposed to the other end of the spectrum.

I don't really take drugs. Well, sometimes a Tylenol Allergy-Sinus when things get out of control with the pollen...but other than that, I'm not lucky enough to be an addict. Addicts seem to get all the breaks. Their addictions define them, and whether or not they realize it, they become a tool of their addictions. I tried for a long time to be a pot addict, but unfortunately, the only addiction forged between myself and Mary Jane was a purely psychological one. Maybe that is how all addictions start. Maybe if I would have stuck with being a pothead, or maybe would have gone at it a little harder, there would have been some physical repercussions. But what can I say? I'm a quitter.

I'd like to have a coke addiction: sniff a little powder and be all energized and motivated. Get skinny. I've heard that gets expensive, though, and can't stomach the idea of spending money on myself like that. Meth isn't my gig, I treasure my teeth way too much, and I have awesome skin. Why would I want to fuck that up to be a tweaker? Heroin would be ok, I guess, but I dislike the idea of shooting up, and could see myself O.D.ing way too easily. I guess I can just reason with myself that all these imperfections are just too imperfect. I'm too fucking smart for that.

I'll just stick with the addictions I have: purses and school. Because a girl can never be too smart or have too many cool bags.

Britney who?

The other morning I was at work and the "new" Britney Spears video came on. While my co-worker Sara and I commented on how she was trying way to hard to be "bad" these days, I was thinking how much Brit looks like a confused 12-year-old. Um, yeah, she was cursing, and then making out with random folks, which I was thinking was really relevant to her song (not) and how proud of this she will be in ten years when her boys are watching it with their friends. Who wants their mom to be shower-masturbation-material? NOBODY! Ew.

Then, the true icing on the cake. The mighty Ms. Spears had already appealed to as many demographics as I thought humanly possible. The badasses, the wannabe badasses, boys everywhere, and skanks looking for inspiration. But lo! One more! She is a true genius. Zombies. Now nerds everywhere can relate to her too!

Jesus Christ, her marketing team must have a combined IQ of about 42.

Popsicles are a sonofabitch!

So Zane and Nora love themselves some popsicles. They eat them like they are going out of style. I don't mind much. They keep them happy and hydrated on the few hot days that we have. Sure, they leave the sticks laying about, but how hard is it to pick those up and throw them away, since they lick them dry each and every time they have one?

My beef is with the freezer. More than once, after a popsicle raid has occurred, I have found the freezer not quite shut, with frosties growing out the door. I yell. Well, more like bellow. We have a little "lesson" on how to close the freezer. I tell them they have to close the freezer EVERY SINGLE TIME they get something out of it. They say they understand, and I think they do, because I haven't found the freezer open again.

I did however note a funky odor coming from the basement. I peeked. Freezer shut, check. Over the day, the odor became fouler and fouler. I investigated further and found that the reason the freezer shut was that the infamous Not Me had been at it again. Sixteen pounds of steaks shoved in the lego bin, fully defrosted and turning grey. No one knew anything about that. But they were both adamant that they had closed the freezer tight.

You just gotta love em, because otherwise, you will lose your mind.

Doctors make me Sleepy

Today, being my only day off this week that is not a recovery day from a night shift or a day off in between a night shift and a day shift (affectionately known as the "fake day off"), was the day reserved for Zane and Luna to visit their pediatrician. My day-care provider was back in full-swing after her week off for her vacation, so I ditched Nora for the day.

How does one little girl make everything so hectic? Hanging with Zane and Luna was fine. Relaxing, even. Sure I had to make Z lunch, had to feed LunaTuna her lunch and comfort her a little following her immunizations, but it was fine. Nothing like the madness that ensued as soon as Nora walked through the door.

The screeching and cackling. The running and tormenting of others. I found myself yelling at Zane, too, for the first time today. He was totally feeding into the madness. She would lay across him on the couch, he would respond with "NOOOOR-a." She stole the blanket away from him on several occasions.

Now they are both in bed. LunaTuna too, but I don't know how long she will sleep. Going to the doctor is apparently a big day when you are 5 months old. And it wiped her out. I kinda hope she stays asleep so I can soak in the tub upstairs and shave my legs without having to listen to her crab or complain. I would like her to stay asleep, but only if it lasts til morning. I kinda doubt it will. I forsee getting up at 3, but I will take my chances, I guess.

5 things kids say that PROVE you are a shitty parent

5. My mom/dad says I'm perfect. You're wrong.

4. I don't have to!

3. Fuck you, I want that goddam candy!

2. My mom/dad is on the PTA and she/he can make your life miserable.

1. Thank you for the Baby Jesus, that little Motherfucker.

All of these have been uttered in my presence. Some by my children, some not. (#2? C'mon!) And its awful hard not to bust a gut sometimes. But they affirm the fact that today's youth bear a sense of entitlement like nobody's business.

Arabic

Much to my father's dismay, I refute learning the "mother tongue" and choose instead to try to pick up Arabic. It seems like it will be far more useful. I have ordered lesson 1 of Rosetta Stone, which is, from what I understand, the method the military uses. I am presently trying to teach myself the alphabet, but I wonder if my Broca's is broken, because it isn't going too well.

Regardless, it is a beautiful script, and I may be destroying it with my attempts. My apologies.

Why would I want to learn Arabic? Well, what language will most need translators employed by the U.S. Government? Its not Chinese anymore. Not Russian. Its Arabic. Being a translator is hardly my dream job, but being a spy would be fun. I'm not into danger so much anymore, and I just re-read The Mission Song by John LeCarre, so being a spy appeals to me. Its not going to kill me to try and do something with my free time besides write, and considering how much dinero I make writing, its probably a good idea to have a fall-back career. Not that being a respiratory therapist isn't a career, its just more of a job to me.

So Rosetta Stone. Has anyone used it? Why doesn't the library carry it?

The sweet, sweet sadness

Last week, Zane, my 3 1/2 year old spent his first night away from both me and my husband. It was his first time away from us, from home. Granted, he was at his grandparents (the land of fun and never-say-no) with his two older sisters, but I was surprised it went as well as it did.

I figured the first couple nights would be fine. And they were. But homesick? Not my little guy! I called one night to see how things were going, wanted to talk to Z on the phone. He told me "I can't talk right now, Mama. I'm too busy playing." Ok, fine. I wiped my tears back and chalked it up to him having a good time. Can't discount him that, right?

Well, this morning when I asked him if he wanted to call someone to come over and play, he informed me that he no longer "plays," he now "hangs out." This is going way too fast for me. He is not cool enough to "hang out." He is just a little boy! I went to the bathroom and wept. I want my little Zane "Pine" Martin back, even if it means he doesn't get to stay at grandma and grandpa's and I don't get a much needed week off!

Water

Naturally, water is our friend. We are made of 99.3% water. Without it we are merely dust. We use it to cook, clean, drink, bathe, and many more functions. But sometimes, as our news of late shows, water turns against us.

Duluth has had some insane rains lately, which means washed-out roads, swelling rivers, and flash floods. Two mothers have lost their babies to the water: one young swimmer in the public pool in Cloquet, the other a teen swimming in the Lester River. Several "near-drownings" have presented to the hospital, as they do every summer in the Land of 10,000 Lakes.

Now, I know some Bible thumper somewhere is puffing out his chest, caressing the backyard ark he has been just waiting to use. The neighbors laughed at him for building it, but now they are thinking it might not have been such a bad idea. But lets not get that out-of-control just yet.

Water happens. Its necessary to most all the functions of life. Go a day without it, I dare you. Go two days and you will want nothing more than a tall cold glass of the tasty wet stuff. But watch your kids when they swim. Easier said than done, I know, but it is worth it, every second of the scanning of the surface of the pool or lake they are in, to not have to pull them from it. To never have to do CPR on a drowned child is not a dream that most mothers have, but it is one of mine.

Please, if your child can't swim, or isn't a strong swimmer, take them to swimming lessons. Make them wear a lifejacket, even if it isn't cool. Because its much better to be uncool and alive than the most awesome dead kid ever, I promise. Explain to them why they can't go in rivers after heavy rains. Most importantly, watch them like hawks in the water.

My heart breaks for the families of these children who have died in the water. I cannot fathom the anguish and despair they must feel. I hope I never have to find out what it feels like.