how does one find time for spirituality when one doesn't even find time to eat? how does one find spirituality when one can't really find a place in organized religion (i.e. spirituality) - personally this refers to my dilemma of having been brought up islamic in a country with a population construed of 98% catholics. Can't do the Catholic thing, can't do the Christian thing, period, for do not believe in Jesus being son of God...or trinity and such...thus -> problem being Christian (i.e. commit to going to church every Sunday for an hour or two). Can't do the islamic thing, for have no community I fit in (community -> very important when practicing any kind of religion). Can't do the Bhudda thing, for cannot suddenly change Gods altogether. Darn faith thing all drilled in my mind, so I had to take religion out of the equation altogether. But really, the equation that brought me to my agnostic standpoint is much more complicated than that.
Doesn't matter. Point is that I am having a huge void of spirituality and sense of balance in my life. If one doesn't have religion one at least needs nature, I believe. Nature is a very powerful thing to make us feel closer to God. So, one thing I haven't lost is my believe in God, although I think maybe he might be losing his belief in me...
After all, I'm not giving him/her much to work with lately. Sometimes I'm so out of touch (i.e. take everything in my life for granted) I forget what this is all about. Not that I know what the meaning of life is...... but .... well, one thing I know and that is....we're supposed to live. Live a life. Have a life. Make a good one out of it. And with good, I don't mean get oneself hooked up with all kinds of material shit but good in the sense of ...happiness...generosity...kindness etc.....
Then again, I look at the general human (with all his greed, basic instincts, and need to hate and kill and whatnot ...<-is that a word?) and I wonder,... maybe we're just supposed to live and that's it. That can't be it. It just can't.
Ohmygosh, I just wanted to figure out where to find spirituality in the daily mess that is my life right now and here I go again,.... beginning to philosophize about the question whether mankind is good or evil. This is not blog-material, sis... too complex ...
Anyway, I know where I can get spirituality from ... it is nature. Unfortunately, I haven't sat on a rock and looked at the sky in years so I'm pretty much shot there.
Let's see...what else. I've tried a couple of books. Problem is they have to be pragmatic enough for me to accept them as serious reading material (and that's hard to find or evaluate from cover-judging). Can't do that whole new-age kinda crap.
Last good book I bought in that genre... Letters to a Spiritual Seeker by Henry David Thoureau.
Note how I wrote "bought".... as opposed to "read". One would need time to read as much as one would need time to sit on a darn rock. So I might as well just give up or make some serious time to fill this void. HA, but how?
Not possible. Just not possible. I barely get to sit down to write this blog. So many things I would have liked to jot down, didn't have the time, and then forgot about... it's sad.
oh, well. gotta go.
10,000 things to do.
and it's 11:30pm...
sigh.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Thursday, October 21, 2004
got 5 minutes
quick thoughts I can jot down in 5 minutes... then my crazy day continues..no time to write
came to conclusion that I really have bad service karma. after spa breakdown drama 2 weeks ago (see previous blog somewhere..."bad day anyone") I have now figured out where my excruciating sudden neckpain is coming from. I've traced it back to pre-haircut shampoo-girl, who gave me 2 minute shampoo with head-neck massage from hell (she had iron-clamp-fingers, I swear...so skinny but beware of those freakishly strong hands...well, I guess if you shampoo all day you get to exercise those muscles.). Damn, and they made me tip her 5 bucks, too. ...geez, I remember the days when I wasn't willing to pay much more than that for my haircut itself.
I'm really getting old.
hope that neck thing isn't a permanent injury.
I'm not the suing (sueing, sue-ing?) type. If I were, I should have sued my dentist, who was supposed to change the fillings in my front teeth and instead changed my front teeth for caps without telling me. I kept on wondering what the hell he was doing and then one day I took the mirror while he stepped out and realized he had taken out my teeth. I almost went into shock.
Haven't been to the dentist in 4 years now. Traumatized....
shoot. gotta go.
write later.
came to conclusion that I really have bad service karma. after spa breakdown drama 2 weeks ago (see previous blog somewhere..."bad day anyone") I have now figured out where my excruciating sudden neckpain is coming from. I've traced it back to pre-haircut shampoo-girl, who gave me 2 minute shampoo with head-neck massage from hell (she had iron-clamp-fingers, I swear...so skinny but beware of those freakishly strong hands...well, I guess if you shampoo all day you get to exercise those muscles.). Damn, and they made me tip her 5 bucks, too. ...geez, I remember the days when I wasn't willing to pay much more than that for my haircut itself.
I'm really getting old.
hope that neck thing isn't a permanent injury.
I'm not the suing (sueing, sue-ing?) type. If I were, I should have sued my dentist, who was supposed to change the fillings in my front teeth and instead changed my front teeth for caps without telling me. I kept on wondering what the hell he was doing and then one day I took the mirror while he stepped out and realized he had taken out my teeth. I almost went into shock.
Haven't been to the dentist in 4 years now. Traumatized....
shoot. gotta go.
write later.
Thursday, October 14, 2004
what I got for my birthday (husband collecting minus points)
thought it couldn't get worse after last "mixed tape" (well CD, actually) D made for me...with "all his heart".... and "with all our songs". I don't know what hoochie he was thinking of but none of those songs were "our songs". Looked more like he just collected all slow-jam summer '95 songs he could find on kazaa, burned them on a CD and tried to pass it off as a project he had put thought into.... just for me. sigh.
However, what my dear husband gave me for my birthday WASN'T FUNNY AT ALL!
No card, no diamonds (not that I want diamonds but I'm just saying), nothing fancy saying you look like a hot 20-year old to me...
Nooo...what does he give me....he gives me a bottle of Menopause Relief tablets.
HA. HA. very funny.
However, what my dear husband gave me for my birthday WASN'T FUNNY AT ALL!
No card, no diamonds (not that I want diamonds but I'm just saying), nothing fancy saying you look like a hot 20-year old to me...
Nooo...what does he give me....he gives me a bottle of Menopause Relief tablets.
HA. HA. very funny.
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
15 minutes of being 30
ok. so I just turned 30 years old about 17 minutes ago... aaahhh.
over with the twenties. now I'm officially a grown-up, right? No more excuses.
I've gone from anti-wrinkle-craze-ridiculer to having-found-my-first-wrinkle-panic.
people. it's too late. I was gonna bitch about that show "wife-swap" and the scary extremes of characters (especially in last week's show). I was gonna continue on some relationship philosophies and I was gonna bitch about politics....
unfortunately ... I am too tired to even get out one more sentence that makes sense...
later... i'll try.
over with the twenties. now I'm officially a grown-up, right? No more excuses.
I've gone from anti-wrinkle-craze-ridiculer to having-found-my-first-wrinkle-panic.
people. it's too late. I was gonna bitch about that show "wife-swap" and the scary extremes of characters (especially in last week's show). I was gonna continue on some relationship philosophies and I was gonna bitch about politics....
unfortunately ... I am too tired to even get out one more sentence that makes sense...
later... i'll try.
Sunday, October 10, 2004
relationships. what for?
can someone explain to me what relationships are good for? Is it me or aren't they just mostly a pain in the ass for all involved parties ... most of the time? I hope it's me, cause if not then that's one triste outlook for any potential future relationships (i.e why waste time in a relationship ever again?).
Isn't your partner supposed to be the person you're supposed to be able to count on when you need to and when there is nobody else to count on anymore?
A vague memory of my old - much more independent and purer - self reminds me of the fact that this is a very bad expectation to have of your partner, for it will inevitably lead to disappointment (at least, in most cases).
In the beginning (and with beginning I mean, a couple of years...for it's been 9 years this past Summer since D and I first started going out) I never expected anything of him. I was my own person and that was that. No bitterness attached to this perception.... just life as I saw it. I always paid for my own way (didn't like when a man paid for my food/drink/etc.) and never expected help in whatever I planned, thus never was in for any disappointments.
Once again, ... living here has changed me.
I've begun to expect certain things of certain people (not because they fulfill them but because the mere presence of the expectation is a given by surroundings. ... I remember, the first time someone asked me why my husband isn't doing this or that for me...and then "good thing you have a husband to help you out with that" ... etc. etc. etc. I never realized that the expectation of help didn't change anything in the actual situation but my attitude. And that wasn't a good thing. I became dependent. I begun to wait for stuff to happen I would have done on my own in a minute. And then... when they wouldn't get done I became frustrated and resentful. It's been a vicious cycle. ... Dario's "Honey-please-do-list" I once compiled is a complete waste of paper. The items on that list are sometimes over a year old and certain things I didn't even bother putting on the reworked (i.e. edited) list anymore (e.g. things I can't wait for... floors need to be mopped, bathrooms need cleaning, no matter who's turn it is...as a result, Dario hasn't cleaned a toilet in like a year and a half).
Now, why don't I just do all that shit myself?
I used to do stuff myself (put up shelves, hang pictures, troubleshoot my computer, fix the VCR, etc.) why have I become such a hussy? Granted I have no more time to do any such simple task as to brush my own hair sometimes, I stopped being self-sufficient way before my kids entered the picture.
Of course, now that they're here and there is no time for anything AND I am still hoping D would actually take a look at that list one of these days NOTHING gets done anymore.
So tell me again, why are we in relationships then? If not to help each other out on all kinds of levels? Why do we put ourselves through so much emotional shit? For the sake of familiar intimacy? Companionship?? But then that's not what I call companionship. Wouldn't a companion be more like a friend... so ... why struggle through a relationship then?
I mean, not for nothing have I always put as much emphasis on my friendships as on my family relations... if not more so. Friends can last forever ... relationships mostly don't ... and if they do, you're lucky. Isn't it so?
soo tired.
if he could only see how much I need his support now more than ever. this whole situation is killing me. back at work full-time. both kids by myself when I get home from a day often without even so much as a lunch break. D at school every night until almost 10pm. loads of housework and left-over regular work after the kids are finally down (putting down 2 kids under 3 ....at the same time....isn't an easy task.). no life of my own. tense neck, cramped up back, and a chronic stomach ache. It's not fucking easy to then be very diplomatic, although lately I've been making a real effort to actively work on some issues we've been having. D, however, misinterprets my attempts to talk about certain things with resolutions in mind as some sort of nagging and his favorite reply to anything I would like to talk about nowadays is "let it go already." or today the nicer version "shut the fuck up already." ... now see, I can't be talked to that way. Things turn off there. I might have lived in the ghetto for almost 10 years now but I refuse to become that ghetto.
Respect is something you must not lose in a relationship or things will fall apart.
They will.
It's sad because I know we have love. It's just buried somewhere right now and we would have to dig for it (i.e. work on the relationship a bit. do some maintenance. ...but I don't have the energy to be the initiator anymore. the one to pull us out of the deep again. I don't have the energy and I'm afraid of what might happen now...I'm afraid because I have kids now...it's not about me anymore...I can't just say..."oh, I don't need a man to be happy," which honestly I don't ...but my kids need one...and that's their father. D is, after all, a really good dad.)
I know now why drinking is prohibited in Islam. Cause one way or the other we will probably all reach this point where we just wanna be drunk as often as possible to make it through. Good thing I was raised with this very strong resistance towards drinking otherwise, I'd be trying to be drunk at least by noon ;)
And,...since I'm nursing...I can't smoke or ANYTHING.
It sucks to be sober all the time. ;)
Isn't your partner supposed to be the person you're supposed to be able to count on when you need to and when there is nobody else to count on anymore?
A vague memory of my old - much more independent and purer - self reminds me of the fact that this is a very bad expectation to have of your partner, for it will inevitably lead to disappointment (at least, in most cases).
In the beginning (and with beginning I mean, a couple of years...for it's been 9 years this past Summer since D and I first started going out) I never expected anything of him. I was my own person and that was that. No bitterness attached to this perception.... just life as I saw it. I always paid for my own way (didn't like when a man paid for my food/drink/etc.) and never expected help in whatever I planned, thus never was in for any disappointments.
Once again, ... living here has changed me.
I've begun to expect certain things of certain people (not because they fulfill them but because the mere presence of the expectation is a given by surroundings. ... I remember, the first time someone asked me why my husband isn't doing this or that for me...and then "good thing you have a husband to help you out with that" ... etc. etc. etc. I never realized that the expectation of help didn't change anything in the actual situation but my attitude. And that wasn't a good thing. I became dependent. I begun to wait for stuff to happen I would have done on my own in a minute. And then... when they wouldn't get done I became frustrated and resentful. It's been a vicious cycle. ... Dario's "Honey-please-do-list" I once compiled is a complete waste of paper. The items on that list are sometimes over a year old and certain things I didn't even bother putting on the reworked (i.e. edited) list anymore (e.g. things I can't wait for... floors need to be mopped, bathrooms need cleaning, no matter who's turn it is...as a result, Dario hasn't cleaned a toilet in like a year and a half).
Now, why don't I just do all that shit myself?
I used to do stuff myself (put up shelves, hang pictures, troubleshoot my computer, fix the VCR, etc.) why have I become such a hussy? Granted I have no more time to do any such simple task as to brush my own hair sometimes, I stopped being self-sufficient way before my kids entered the picture.
Of course, now that they're here and there is no time for anything AND I am still hoping D would actually take a look at that list one of these days NOTHING gets done anymore.
So tell me again, why are we in relationships then? If not to help each other out on all kinds of levels? Why do we put ourselves through so much emotional shit? For the sake of familiar intimacy? Companionship?? But then that's not what I call companionship. Wouldn't a companion be more like a friend... so ... why struggle through a relationship then?
I mean, not for nothing have I always put as much emphasis on my friendships as on my family relations... if not more so. Friends can last forever ... relationships mostly don't ... and if they do, you're lucky. Isn't it so?
soo tired.
if he could only see how much I need his support now more than ever. this whole situation is killing me. back at work full-time. both kids by myself when I get home from a day often without even so much as a lunch break. D at school every night until almost 10pm. loads of housework and left-over regular work after the kids are finally down (putting down 2 kids under 3 ....at the same time....isn't an easy task.). no life of my own. tense neck, cramped up back, and a chronic stomach ache. It's not fucking easy to then be very diplomatic, although lately I've been making a real effort to actively work on some issues we've been having. D, however, misinterprets my attempts to talk about certain things with resolutions in mind as some sort of nagging and his favorite reply to anything I would like to talk about nowadays is "let it go already." or today the nicer version "shut the fuck up already." ... now see, I can't be talked to that way. Things turn off there. I might have lived in the ghetto for almost 10 years now but I refuse to become that ghetto.
Respect is something you must not lose in a relationship or things will fall apart.
They will.
It's sad because I know we have love. It's just buried somewhere right now and we would have to dig for it (i.e. work on the relationship a bit. do some maintenance. ...but I don't have the energy to be the initiator anymore. the one to pull us out of the deep again. I don't have the energy and I'm afraid of what might happen now...I'm afraid because I have kids now...it's not about me anymore...I can't just say..."oh, I don't need a man to be happy," which honestly I don't ...but my kids need one...and that's their father. D is, after all, a really good dad.)
I know now why drinking is prohibited in Islam. Cause one way or the other we will probably all reach this point where we just wanna be drunk as often as possible to make it through. Good thing I was raised with this very strong resistance towards drinking otherwise, I'd be trying to be drunk at least by noon ;)
And,...since I'm nursing...I can't smoke or ANYTHING.
It sucks to be sober all the time. ;)
Saturday, October 02, 2004
are urbanites doomed to become antisocial?
the antisocial act I pulled today bordered on pathetic.
maybe I acted the way I did because I was getting myself through the day with barely 2 or 3 hours of (INTERRUPTED) sleep but my old - austrian&well-mannered self would have pulled me to the side for some serious scolding (if it weren't buried so deep in my new ego-centric been-in-nyc-too-long self).
So, anyway... as the day passed by (me mostly being an uproductive crank-head) I had repeatedly expressed my reluctance to have any "guests" over tonight, for Dario kept on mentioning that an old roomate of ours (who somehow keeps herself in the picture...no comment here. it's a story in itself.) was going to maybe pass by with her husband and kid, both of whom are actually really nice. daugther - nice kid & husband - TV-addicted but otherwise very nice dude.
Anyway, when the bell rang in the late afternoon I began to panic. Oh no, D didn't make up any excuses on why today wasn't a good day for visiting. So I ran. Literally. I grabbed my bag, a book, a netflix movie, and dashed out the door shouting, "ok, D. I'll be upstairs then (at R.s house)". Maia in anticipation of visitors tried to follow me into the hallway but since I hadn't had the time to grab a key I couldn't just lock the door assuring her safety.
So, there I am in the hallway, my eyes frantically oscillating between elevator floor status display and Maia at door, threatening her like I would Trouble (with stomping my foot on the floor and instructing with deep, authoritative voice to go and stay inside. Close the door in front of her, again and run back to the emergency stairs. Stay there until elevator hits our floor and peek back to make sure Maia who, of course, has opened the door again isn't letting in strangers but in fact our unexpected guests. I hear familiar voices and silently close the emergency exit stair door.
Knock on R's door with request to accept refugee status of mine. She accepts and I get to plomp myself on the couch with my book.
20 minutes later the phone rings.
Turns out, Dario and our guests thought I am in the bedroom with screaming baby (trying the cry-out method or something) until D finally goes to check why the baby is so unusually hysterical. Finds Maia by herself in bedroom with baby (on bed), applying lotion all over her little sister. Eyes and everything.
I drop everything and run downstairs.
Baby seems ok. Her hair is quite funky looking and her eyes a bit reddened and she still seems to be recovering from traumatic Maia-balming but otherwise all is fine.
Maia is crying on her time-out chair. Poor thing. Didn't mean bad but explains that she just wanted baby to be "all cleean and beauutiful".
I run down "things-not-to-do-with-the-baby" with her again and let her go.
So much for my pretend-I'm working on co-op board stuff with Rosa. Have to stay now and watch super-loud cops, america's most wanted and the apprentice, for tv-addicted hubby cannot and must not miss any show, never mind the fact that he's engaging in supposed social event ... visit at our place. but who am I to judge, right ;)
maybe I acted the way I did because I was getting myself through the day with barely 2 or 3 hours of (INTERRUPTED) sleep but my old - austrian&well-mannered self would have pulled me to the side for some serious scolding (if it weren't buried so deep in my new ego-centric been-in-nyc-too-long self).
So, anyway... as the day passed by (me mostly being an uproductive crank-head) I had repeatedly expressed my reluctance to have any "guests" over tonight, for Dario kept on mentioning that an old roomate of ours (who somehow keeps herself in the picture...no comment here. it's a story in itself.) was going to maybe pass by with her husband and kid, both of whom are actually really nice. daugther - nice kid & husband - TV-addicted but otherwise very nice dude.
Anyway, when the bell rang in the late afternoon I began to panic. Oh no, D didn't make up any excuses on why today wasn't a good day for visiting. So I ran. Literally. I grabbed my bag, a book, a netflix movie, and dashed out the door shouting, "ok, D. I'll be upstairs then (at R.s house)". Maia in anticipation of visitors tried to follow me into the hallway but since I hadn't had the time to grab a key I couldn't just lock the door assuring her safety.
So, there I am in the hallway, my eyes frantically oscillating between elevator floor status display and Maia at door, threatening her like I would Trouble (with stomping my foot on the floor and instructing with deep, authoritative voice to go and stay inside. Close the door in front of her, again and run back to the emergency stairs. Stay there until elevator hits our floor and peek back to make sure Maia who, of course, has opened the door again isn't letting in strangers but in fact our unexpected guests. I hear familiar voices and silently close the emergency exit stair door.
Knock on R's door with request to accept refugee status of mine. She accepts and I get to plomp myself on the couch with my book.
20 minutes later the phone rings.
Turns out, Dario and our guests thought I am in the bedroom with screaming baby (trying the cry-out method or something) until D finally goes to check why the baby is so unusually hysterical. Finds Maia by herself in bedroom with baby (on bed), applying lotion all over her little sister. Eyes and everything.
I drop everything and run downstairs.
Baby seems ok. Her hair is quite funky looking and her eyes a bit reddened and she still seems to be recovering from traumatic Maia-balming but otherwise all is fine.
Maia is crying on her time-out chair. Poor thing. Didn't mean bad but explains that she just wanted baby to be "all cleean and beauutiful".
I run down "things-not-to-do-with-the-baby" with her again and let her go.
So much for my pretend-I'm working on co-op board stuff with Rosa. Have to stay now and watch super-loud cops, america's most wanted and the apprentice, for tv-addicted hubby cannot and must not miss any show, never mind the fact that he's engaging in supposed social event ... visit at our place. but who am I to judge, right ;)
Friday, October 01, 2004
bad day anyone?
my bad days aren't your average bad days... they are usually a succession of unlucky accidents, which ultimately turn the day into a self-fulfilling prophecy, or so I theorize, for I just cannot believe the way things go when I have a "bad" day.
Generally, I am laughing out loud my mid-afternoon because the turn of things are just too ridiculous to be really happening.
Today...so far...a quick run-down on what's been happening.
wake up late. get kids ready for babysitter and school, respectively. by the time D is ready to leave the house (and take Maia with him to school), Maia has fully undressed herself again and sits happily on her bed announcing she isn't going. don't have time to argue. tell D to leave and I'll take her in. remind myself, not to forget family-day at her school today. go check flyer for event details. notice was supposed to make home-cooked dish as contribution to event. check fridge for any kind of left-overs not more than three days old. no luck. make mental note: throw out spaghetti from last week just sighted in back of fridge.
get on computer quickly to check workload and mail to give impression I'm starting early as opposed to real-time estimate of serious settlement in front of PC probably way past 11a.m.
have to get Maia to school, engage in family-event a bit, AND make it to 12 o'clock appointment I secured the day before at 57th St. super-haute-couture-can't-afford-services-but-have-giftcertificate-spa. (note: had left-over balance on gift-certificate dating back to pregnancy. $35.- remaining. looked through spa-booklet and realized have to add about 60.- to these $35 to be able to pay for any kind of service at this nyc upper east side place. would love to have booked "count-down to butter-massage" but can only afford "30.min.rapid.rub" <- actual names of bliss spa massages. decide I deserve...and actually need massage, for knot in my back is now the size of small state.)
Anyway, let me change this telegram-kinda writing style cause I'm losing track of the beginning of my sentences.
So, at 11 a.m. I shut down computer, realizing I'll be late if I don't get my butt out the house. Of course, it's too late now to get Maia to school and wait until she's ready to be peeled off my leg (still adjusting to preK), so I drop her off at the beloved babysitter instead.
Jump into the elevator, which goes up and down a couple of times first, before finally leaving me in the lobby. Run into Rosa, who has almost as many bags as I do (don't know why I have so many bags..let's see. handbag. plasticbag with stuff that doesn't fit in handbag. babybjoern baby carrier, which has been recalled and needs to be returned, outgoing mail, and a cup of coffee I dream of drinking at some point during this hectic morning - don't know at that point, of course, that I won't.) I manage to free up two fingers to help Rosa carry one of her bags. Pick super heavy and super-thin plastic bag which, with all the other things in my hands, I cannot keep off the floor. So, I make it down the hallway, bag semi-touching the floor but then it rips and all insides are now strewn in front of exit door. bag of sugar, mayonnaise, ketchup, etc. I try to find replacement bag in my car, Rosa urges me to get out already as not to miss appointment.
So, I am racing to the train-station. Planning to leave car somewhere parked around there. No parking. Alternate Side Parking rules in effect? ... Continue driving south to find parking along the way. Decide to get off very traffic-heavy Jerome Ave. and take a parallel route. Of course, I end up somewhere elevated, full of dead-ends ghetto-looking kind of area. See the 4 train at bottom of hill. Call D at office, to look up Alternate Side Parking rules, for I notice people have still not moved their cars. Dude pulls up next to me with music blasting SO loud, my van is vibrating and I cannot hear a thing Dario or even I am saying. Have to wait 'til ghetto-brotha moves. D announces "no ASP rules in effect today". Wish I had known earlier. Park car next to drug-dealer guy standing at top of stairs leading down to Jerome. Run down eight hundred steps to 176 St. station. Turns out the station I picked to enter subway is closed for very active, fire-sparks flying maintenance. Run back up eight hundred steps, now feeling like a thousand; creating new curse-word with every step I climb; drug-dealer guy actually makes me feel better by giving me sympathetic smile, but not good enough to hold up my cool, for when I then finally give up and call spa to cancel I am being reminded of policy and enforcement of policy that I still have to pay for full service. I break into tears and hang up. Mad at myself for crying about missed spa-date. Remind myself, crying about whole bunch of shit -> over-exhaustion. irony of me stressing to get to appointment for relaxation. 1/2 relaxation with 1 hour stressfull commute each way. wonder why I'm so stupid. want to call spa back and tell them that I'm no 5th-ave-got-too-much-money kinda costumer but will actually be quite hurt by losing 60.-, or in this case 100.- for a service I never actually received. What kind of costumer service is that? Isn't it the spa's sole function to get rid of the physical stress build-up in my life as opposed to adding to it?
Sit in my car wondering who I could call to calm me down. Want to call Rosa. Tell myself:
"don't you dare call Rosa...she has a son with leukemia who just got back from yet another stay at the hospital...she has a full-time job, is a single-mom and at the moment probably just as stressed as you are." boom. I'm back to reality. Stupid little problems of mine. Get over it.
"Don't see you crying when you receive $100 parking ticket" (although, I must say that's not true, ...if the day has been really bad I might crack at that moment of ticket issuance. $100 bucks is a LOT of money to be throwing around, dammit...I better be getting some kind of pleasure out of it).
So, I decide... let me just hop into the post-office and return that baby-bjoern carrier, which has been recalled by the manufacturer. had been contemplating for a while, whether I shouldn't just keep using it and save myself the hassle but then reminded myself that if Nayla does fall out I won't be able to live with the guilt. Parking meter swallows my quarter, but of course, doesn't show the receipt of money and keeps blinking "0:00" time left straight into my face. decide I won't take it up with the meter but do kick and punch it a couple of times, just in case. no luck. no "FAIL" annoucement, so it'll just continue appearing like an expired meter (mentally prepare for ticket).
At post-office I stand in line for 20 minutes and realize at last moment I don't know which address to send baby carrier to. Call company. automated message: "go to blah.blah.com and request self-addressed envelope. blah blah blah." Step out of line, which I have now been waiting on FOR NOTHING...like so many things during this morning.
Return home, now no time for lunch, for have wasted time driving around throwing fits, and such. Eat bowl of left-over chicken-rice with no chicken left inside. Dig for ketchup and BBQ sauce in fridge door to add some flavor. Maple Syrup glass bottle slides through shelf holder and shatters into a hundred pieces on my kitchen floor. Syrup and glass everywhere.
I give up. Day ... you have beaten me. I am going back to bed.
Of course, can't because have double-workload on me (-> colleague on 1-month wedding/honeymoon vacation) and need to sit my ass in front of computer already.
Clean up syrup and sit into office. Take a sip of cold, watered down morning coffee, eat ketchup rice and begin weeding through e-mail. 2 minutes later, Rosa knocks on my door to emergency baby-sit her 2-year old son. No problem, bring it on. ;)
Generally, I am laughing out loud my mid-afternoon because the turn of things are just too ridiculous to be really happening.
Today...so far...a quick run-down on what's been happening.
wake up late. get kids ready for babysitter and school, respectively. by the time D is ready to leave the house (and take Maia with him to school), Maia has fully undressed herself again and sits happily on her bed announcing she isn't going. don't have time to argue. tell D to leave and I'll take her in. remind myself, not to forget family-day at her school today. go check flyer for event details. notice was supposed to make home-cooked dish as contribution to event. check fridge for any kind of left-overs not more than three days old. no luck. make mental note: throw out spaghetti from last week just sighted in back of fridge.
get on computer quickly to check workload and mail to give impression I'm starting early as opposed to real-time estimate of serious settlement in front of PC probably way past 11a.m.
have to get Maia to school, engage in family-event a bit, AND make it to 12 o'clock appointment I secured the day before at 57th St. super-haute-couture-can't-afford-services-but-have-giftcertificate-spa. (note: had left-over balance on gift-certificate dating back to pregnancy. $35.- remaining. looked through spa-booklet and realized have to add about 60.- to these $35 to be able to pay for any kind of service at this nyc upper east side place. would love to have booked "count-down to butter-massage" but can only afford "30.min.rapid.rub" <- actual names of bliss spa massages. decide I deserve...and actually need massage, for knot in my back is now the size of small state.)
Anyway, let me change this telegram-kinda writing style cause I'm losing track of the beginning of my sentences.
So, at 11 a.m. I shut down computer, realizing I'll be late if I don't get my butt out the house. Of course, it's too late now to get Maia to school and wait until she's ready to be peeled off my leg (still adjusting to preK), so I drop her off at the beloved babysitter instead.
Jump into the elevator, which goes up and down a couple of times first, before finally leaving me in the lobby. Run into Rosa, who has almost as many bags as I do (don't know why I have so many bags..let's see. handbag. plasticbag with stuff that doesn't fit in handbag. babybjoern baby carrier, which has been recalled and needs to be returned, outgoing mail, and a cup of coffee I dream of drinking at some point during this hectic morning - don't know at that point, of course, that I won't.) I manage to free up two fingers to help Rosa carry one of her bags. Pick super heavy and super-thin plastic bag which, with all the other things in my hands, I cannot keep off the floor. So, I make it down the hallway, bag semi-touching the floor but then it rips and all insides are now strewn in front of exit door. bag of sugar, mayonnaise, ketchup, etc. I try to find replacement bag in my car, Rosa urges me to get out already as not to miss appointment.
So, I am racing to the train-station. Planning to leave car somewhere parked around there. No parking. Alternate Side Parking rules in effect? ... Continue driving south to find parking along the way. Decide to get off very traffic-heavy Jerome Ave. and take a parallel route. Of course, I end up somewhere elevated, full of dead-ends ghetto-looking kind of area. See the 4 train at bottom of hill. Call D at office, to look up Alternate Side Parking rules, for I notice people have still not moved their cars. Dude pulls up next to me with music blasting SO loud, my van is vibrating and I cannot hear a thing Dario or even I am saying. Have to wait 'til ghetto-brotha moves. D announces "no ASP rules in effect today". Wish I had known earlier. Park car next to drug-dealer guy standing at top of stairs leading down to Jerome. Run down eight hundred steps to 176 St. station. Turns out the station I picked to enter subway is closed for very active, fire-sparks flying maintenance. Run back up eight hundred steps, now feeling like a thousand; creating new curse-word with every step I climb; drug-dealer guy actually makes me feel better by giving me sympathetic smile, but not good enough to hold up my cool, for when I then finally give up and call spa to cancel I am being reminded of policy and enforcement of policy that I still have to pay for full service. I break into tears and hang up. Mad at myself for crying about missed spa-date. Remind myself, crying about whole bunch of shit -> over-exhaustion. irony of me stressing to get to appointment for relaxation. 1/2 relaxation with 1 hour stressfull commute each way. wonder why I'm so stupid. want to call spa back and tell them that I'm no 5th-ave-got-too-much-money kinda costumer but will actually be quite hurt by losing 60.-, or in this case 100.- for a service I never actually received. What kind of costumer service is that? Isn't it the spa's sole function to get rid of the physical stress build-up in my life as opposed to adding to it?
Sit in my car wondering who I could call to calm me down. Want to call Rosa. Tell myself:
"don't you dare call Rosa...she has a son with leukemia who just got back from yet another stay at the hospital...she has a full-time job, is a single-mom and at the moment probably just as stressed as you are." boom. I'm back to reality. Stupid little problems of mine. Get over it.
"Don't see you crying when you receive $100 parking ticket" (although, I must say that's not true, ...if the day has been really bad I might crack at that moment of ticket issuance. $100 bucks is a LOT of money to be throwing around, dammit...I better be getting some kind of pleasure out of it).
So, I decide... let me just hop into the post-office and return that baby-bjoern carrier, which has been recalled by the manufacturer. had been contemplating for a while, whether I shouldn't just keep using it and save myself the hassle but then reminded myself that if Nayla does fall out I won't be able to live with the guilt. Parking meter swallows my quarter, but of course, doesn't show the receipt of money and keeps blinking "0:00" time left straight into my face. decide I won't take it up with the meter but do kick and punch it a couple of times, just in case. no luck. no "FAIL" annoucement, so it'll just continue appearing like an expired meter (mentally prepare for ticket).
At post-office I stand in line for 20 minutes and realize at last moment I don't know which address to send baby carrier to. Call company. automated message: "go to blah.blah.com and request self-addressed envelope. blah blah blah." Step out of line, which I have now been waiting on FOR NOTHING...like so many things during this morning.
Return home, now no time for lunch, for have wasted time driving around throwing fits, and such. Eat bowl of left-over chicken-rice with no chicken left inside. Dig for ketchup and BBQ sauce in fridge door to add some flavor. Maple Syrup glass bottle slides through shelf holder and shatters into a hundred pieces on my kitchen floor. Syrup and glass everywhere.
I give up. Day ... you have beaten me. I am going back to bed.
Of course, can't because have double-workload on me (-> colleague on 1-month wedding/honeymoon vacation) and need to sit my ass in front of computer already.
Clean up syrup and sit into office. Take a sip of cold, watered down morning coffee, eat ketchup rice and begin weeding through e-mail. 2 minutes later, Rosa knocks on my door to emergency baby-sit her 2-year old son. No problem, bring it on. ;)
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
should I be concerned?
Dario just left his computer on for three days to download a full version of Daddy Daycare...that corny movie with Eddie Murphy. If I recall correctly, it was a flop but apparently he has heard good critiques from his co-workers. "male co-workers?" I asked. "yes." ... - "well, let me tell you, that movie is not worth risking prosecution for illegally downloading media. actually it kinda sucked. if there is a male equivalent to chick-flicks ...this is it. are you willing to go to jail for this? you have two kids."
...would be kind of ironic, though ;)... I can imagine the dialogue with Maia.."mami, where is daddy?" - "oh, your father is in prison for downloading Daddy Daycare."
Another reason for concern has been his recent discovery of The Bee Gees (..wait how do you spell that?). So here he's driving down the street in his macho-ride... and one day he's blasting Reggaton with the windows rolled down and the next (when he closes his windows) it's Bee Gees - greatest hits.
He would probably kill me if he read this blog entry. ;) questioning his masculinity. then again...he doesn't really give a f what people think ... he loves playing with his friends' homophobia... The Dominican culture is such a macho culture, I suppose ... he gets a kick out of disturbing this. He ain't your typical Dominican, I guess. Although, with his potential f-buddy list on AIM I might just be the victim of a perfect deception.
...would be kind of ironic, though ;)... I can imagine the dialogue with Maia.."mami, where is daddy?" - "oh, your father is in prison for downloading Daddy Daycare."
Another reason for concern has been his recent discovery of The Bee Gees (..wait how do you spell that?). So here he's driving down the street in his macho-ride... and one day he's blasting Reggaton with the windows rolled down and the next (when he closes his windows) it's Bee Gees - greatest hits.
He would probably kill me if he read this blog entry. ;) questioning his masculinity. then again...he doesn't really give a f what people think ... he loves playing with his friends' homophobia... The Dominican culture is such a macho culture, I suppose ... he gets a kick out of disturbing this. He ain't your typical Dominican, I guess. Although, with his potential f-buddy list on AIM I might just be the victim of a perfect deception.
Monday, September 20, 2004
los perros muerden - dogwarnings and my attempts to remain calm
ok. I've had it of media mind-polluted people warning me about my pitbull being together with my two young children. first of all, it doesn't matter what kind of dog one has, it is about the way the dog is raised. second, the fact that pitbulls can lock their jaw into one tight grip doesn't mean they will or do every time they bite or snap at anything. third, there are more people bitten by labradors and chihuahuas than there are people bitten by pitbulls. unfortuntately, a pit lashing out makes a much better story on the news than a chihuahua losing it. ;)
fact is, dogs are animals with innate instincts and that should never be forgotton when having them together with unpredictable little kids. however, I can tell you from my own observations that nothing in that department is just black and white, either.
Our dog, named Trouble (he already had his name when we got him as a month-old puppy. he is now seven.) learned how to deal with little children over the last few years .. and is still learning, actually. It has been an amazing process to watch. When we didn't have kids his whole facial expression would change when he was approached by a child, depending on the child's age. Most uncomfortable he seemed to be with toddlers. He seemed to sense that a) the adults were tense and watching his every move (so he would just sort of freeze) and b) this little human wasn't quite as easy to read as the grown ones. it was more like an animal.
the latter statement I can particuarily verify with the way boys act around Trouble. it's fascinating to watch. somehow they instinctively manage to demonstrate all kinds of agressive dog-behavior, which confuses Trouble. While the girls are either timid or straight-forward with Trouble, the 2-year old boys grunt and growl at him, try to mount him, or suddenly charge at him with growling sounds (if you have a dog, you probably know...basically, this whole behavior palette is quite similar to the typical dog-socializing-dance...i.e. those boys, sometimes without ever having seen a dog, demonstrate strikingly similar behavior as two male dogs show when they first meet...or when they socialize with other dogs, generally). This, I understand can be confusing to Trouble so I watch him around little boys quite closely. He behaves, however, I can see his excitement and alertness... his fur stands up and his facial expression is completely different than when dealing with a little girl.
Anyway, fact is, Trouble has come a long way. I remember when Maia (our older one) tried to climb on top of him as a baby and he growled, immediately chastised for this behavior by me, of course. Nowadays, Maia can step on him, climb, fall, trip over him and he won't even budge. She can pull his tail, his ears, pinch him, hug him however she wants, she can take his food away, his bone (!) and the latter is huge, for he would not give his bone to anyone before she was born...he's just happy someone is giving him attention, I suppose. Nayla is his new favorite... He's quite bold with her and just kisses her on the mouth whenever she is placed down on the floor somewhere, which he would have never dared to do in my presence with Maia (i.e. he knew her mouth was off-limits... no licking). Also, he has become protective over Maia.
anyway... I have to end my nature observatory log for today...gotta work.
fact is, dogs are animals with innate instincts and that should never be forgotton when having them together with unpredictable little kids. however, I can tell you from my own observations that nothing in that department is just black and white, either.
Our dog, named Trouble (he already had his name when we got him as a month-old puppy. he is now seven.) learned how to deal with little children over the last few years .. and is still learning, actually. It has been an amazing process to watch. When we didn't have kids his whole facial expression would change when he was approached by a child, depending on the child's age. Most uncomfortable he seemed to be with toddlers. He seemed to sense that a) the adults were tense and watching his every move (so he would just sort of freeze) and b) this little human wasn't quite as easy to read as the grown ones. it was more like an animal.
the latter statement I can particuarily verify with the way boys act around Trouble. it's fascinating to watch. somehow they instinctively manage to demonstrate all kinds of agressive dog-behavior, which confuses Trouble. While the girls are either timid or straight-forward with Trouble, the 2-year old boys grunt and growl at him, try to mount him, or suddenly charge at him with growling sounds (if you have a dog, you probably know...basically, this whole behavior palette is quite similar to the typical dog-socializing-dance...i.e. those boys, sometimes without ever having seen a dog, demonstrate strikingly similar behavior as two male dogs show when they first meet...or when they socialize with other dogs, generally). This, I understand can be confusing to Trouble so I watch him around little boys quite closely. He behaves, however, I can see his excitement and alertness... his fur stands up and his facial expression is completely different than when dealing with a little girl.
Anyway, fact is, Trouble has come a long way. I remember when Maia (our older one) tried to climb on top of him as a baby and he growled, immediately chastised for this behavior by me, of course. Nowadays, Maia can step on him, climb, fall, trip over him and he won't even budge. She can pull his tail, his ears, pinch him, hug him however she wants, she can take his food away, his bone (!) and the latter is huge, for he would not give his bone to anyone before she was born...he's just happy someone is giving him attention, I suppose. Nayla is his new favorite... He's quite bold with her and just kisses her on the mouth whenever she is placed down on the floor somewhere, which he would have never dared to do in my presence with Maia (i.e. he knew her mouth was off-limits... no licking). Also, he has become protective over Maia.
anyway... I have to end my nature observatory log for today...gotta work.
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
things I hate about you and how clean is your house?
did some surfing tonight...channel surfing for a change...two shows that really boosted my mood: things I hate about you (on Bravo around 10pm) and How clean is your house? (on Lifetime sometime after the first show). the latter made me feel particularly good about the condition of my house. and I thought my house was a pig-sty ...woooaaahhh... what people live in is unbelievable. this one woman, you wouldn't be able to tell by looking at her, was living with her puking cat and seemingly never has cleaned anything in her apt. ...ever. There was milk in her fridge from 2003. .... this must have been staged... it was absolutely disgusting. most scary was the fact that she wanted to clean up her house (or have it cleaned by those two ladies who are the show's hosts) so her asthmatic boyfriend could move in...or at least come over. ... what is the boyfriend thinking? that she's gonna change?? and what about that cat, whose litterbox never ever saw a litter shovel, which is the reason why it must have pooped on the woman's bed, btw. ....uuurhg. it was disgusting. ;)
and things i hate about you also made me feel good about my situation (that being the situation of being in a relationship... I just said being twice in a sentence..but am too lazy and too tired to look up any synonyms or work on a different syntax....also, now I said too twice in a sentence...arghh). anyway, ....anyone who thinks they are struggling with annoying habits of their partner should watch that show. it's jaw-dropping (is that a word??)...and it's funny.
and things i hate about you also made me feel good about my situation (that being the situation of being in a relationship... I just said being twice in a sentence..but am too lazy and too tired to look up any synonyms or work on a different syntax....also, now I said too twice in a sentence...arghh). anyway, ....anyone who thinks they are struggling with annoying habits of their partner should watch that show. it's jaw-dropping (is that a word??)...and it's funny.
Monday, September 13, 2004
preventing domestic violence
thank god nobody got shot tonight...
we were just hanging out at home.... when I hear loud arguing on the street. I try to get a glimpse of the noise-makers since it's been a while I've heard this kind of temperamentful fighting. The ghetto kind of arguing " fucking bitch this, fucking blah blah that...". A year ago, when we still lived on Morris Ave. I wouldn't have even looked up from whatever I was doing. In fact, one of the reasons we moved was the constant gunshots on our street. But this here is not the same kind of neighborhood. Unbelievable how much of a difference a few blocks can make.
Anyway, after a few minutes of those people arguing...well, mostly the guy cursing out the woman.... I hear my friend Rosie from upstairs screaming out the window at the top of her lungs: "HEY, take it inside people! You should be ashamed of yourselves. Talking like this in front of your child!" .... a few minutes later I'm on the phone with Rosie and the man goes at it again. this time he's even more heated and is about to explode. " I'm calling the cops right NOW!" screams Rosie in stereo. "gotta hang up", she tells me "i'm calling 911."
a few minutes pass. the couple must have made it off the streets and into a yard or something. Their voices are buffered in the neighboring house or yard now but I can hear him freaking out...he's throwing stuff or I'm not sure what...but it's beginning to sound really scary.
I look out the window and see the cops pull up in front of our building. I'm thinking: "oh, thank god, it's about to get ugly over there." but they don't even get out of the car or roll down a window and since they can't see or hear anything on the street they back up, turn around and leave. I can't believe it. At least get out of the car, people!
Anyway, this time I'm the one calling 911. Rosie has convinced me that this is our duty as neighbors, citizens (well, I'm not a citizen)...etc. whatever. Meanwhile, Dario has actually gotten up from his videogame and when he realizes I'm calling the cops again ...and I'm worried... he takes the phone from me as I am speaking to the operator and says " the guy has a gun. you better get over here now." - "... a gun? why do you say that?" I ask after he hangs up. "somebody who worked for the FBI once told me that's the only way to get things moving, really." ... and sure enough 2 minutes later... the psycho-guy is now walking back and forth between the neighbor's house and his SUV across the street, screaming at his girlfriend...that he'll be back or whatever...5 copcars and an undercover DT car pull up with screeching tires...my phone rings...one of them is actually calling me in the action asking me where the guy is...I point to the SUV across the street as the cops are looking up to my window for direction... how the hell do they know where I live, I wonder.... they spot the guy in rage and suddenly 6 cops have him surrounded and are narrowing in on him with their guns drawn telling him to get on the ground. A moment of frozen time for me...."oh my god, I hope he doesn't pull out his wallet or something" I think .... shit.... and all because Dario said he has a gun ... "he doesn't have a gun! he doesn't have a gun." I call into my cordless phone....immediately wondering if I should be saying the word gun at this moment to anyone of these officers in action....I'm not sure who I am talking to...i think it's one of the detectives.
Anyway, the guy drops to the ground in the middle of our otherwise quite traffic-heavy street, hands behind his head. they hand-cuff him and things begin to calm down. thank god.
i'm like an old lady with her nose glued to the window now... until the guy points up to my window and mentions me ...or Rosie calling. "oh great, he knows where we live now", I think, "time to renew our dog's obedience training." .... I feel bad because this could have ended bad...but I also feel good because this could have ended bad for someone else in this spiel (-> his girlfriend..or ex...i dunno). They let him go ... after some cursing and scolding... but this whole thing surely brought him back to reality from his ego-macho-I'm-gonna-kill-u kinda trip.
gotta go. baby crying.
we were just hanging out at home.... when I hear loud arguing on the street. I try to get a glimpse of the noise-makers since it's been a while I've heard this kind of temperamentful fighting. The ghetto kind of arguing " fucking bitch this, fucking blah blah that...". A year ago, when we still lived on Morris Ave. I wouldn't have even looked up from whatever I was doing. In fact, one of the reasons we moved was the constant gunshots on our street. But this here is not the same kind of neighborhood. Unbelievable how much of a difference a few blocks can make.
Anyway, after a few minutes of those people arguing...well, mostly the guy cursing out the woman.... I hear my friend Rosie from upstairs screaming out the window at the top of her lungs: "HEY, take it inside people! You should be ashamed of yourselves. Talking like this in front of your child!" .... a few minutes later I'm on the phone with Rosie and the man goes at it again. this time he's even more heated and is about to explode. " I'm calling the cops right NOW!" screams Rosie in stereo. "gotta hang up", she tells me "i'm calling 911."
a few minutes pass. the couple must have made it off the streets and into a yard or something. Their voices are buffered in the neighboring house or yard now but I can hear him freaking out...he's throwing stuff or I'm not sure what...but it's beginning to sound really scary.
I look out the window and see the cops pull up in front of our building. I'm thinking: "oh, thank god, it's about to get ugly over there." but they don't even get out of the car or roll down a window and since they can't see or hear anything on the street they back up, turn around and leave. I can't believe it. At least get out of the car, people!
Anyway, this time I'm the one calling 911. Rosie has convinced me that this is our duty as neighbors, citizens (well, I'm not a citizen)...etc. whatever. Meanwhile, Dario has actually gotten up from his videogame and when he realizes I'm calling the cops again ...and I'm worried... he takes the phone from me as I am speaking to the operator and says " the guy has a gun. you better get over here now." - "... a gun? why do you say that?" I ask after he hangs up. "somebody who worked for the FBI once told me that's the only way to get things moving, really." ... and sure enough 2 minutes later... the psycho-guy is now walking back and forth between the neighbor's house and his SUV across the street, screaming at his girlfriend...that he'll be back or whatever...5 copcars and an undercover DT car pull up with screeching tires...my phone rings...one of them is actually calling me in the action asking me where the guy is...I point to the SUV across the street as the cops are looking up to my window for direction... how the hell do they know where I live, I wonder.... they spot the guy in rage and suddenly 6 cops have him surrounded and are narrowing in on him with their guns drawn telling him to get on the ground. A moment of frozen time for me...."oh my god, I hope he doesn't pull out his wallet or something" I think .... shit.... and all because Dario said he has a gun ... "he doesn't have a gun! he doesn't have a gun." I call into my cordless phone....immediately wondering if I should be saying the word gun at this moment to anyone of these officers in action....I'm not sure who I am talking to...i think it's one of the detectives.
Anyway, the guy drops to the ground in the middle of our otherwise quite traffic-heavy street, hands behind his head. they hand-cuff him and things begin to calm down. thank god.
i'm like an old lady with her nose glued to the window now... until the guy points up to my window and mentions me ...or Rosie calling. "oh great, he knows where we live now", I think, "time to renew our dog's obedience training." .... I feel bad because this could have ended bad...but I also feel good because this could have ended bad for someone else in this spiel (-> his girlfriend..or ex...i dunno). They let him go ... after some cursing and scolding... but this whole thing surely brought him back to reality from his ego-macho-I'm-gonna-kill-u kinda trip.
gotta go. baby crying.
Saturday, September 11, 2004
a piece of happy
poor little maia looks like an abused child. they're gonna call social services on me first thing monday morning when I'm dropping her off at school (her first day). ... her nose is reindeer-rudolph-inflamed red and her upper lip is swollen. in addition to this she has rings under her eyes from having a bad night of interrupted sleep. I look similar minus the swollen lip but plus about 27 years.... so I really look like shit.
luckily I encountered a miracle today when my dear husband greeted me with a hot bath after my day running around. I just asked for it and I got it. the tension in the middle east pales in comparison to the one which had built up in my back over the past few weeks/months. needless to say, the bath was about the best thing he could have done to get "booty-points", as I like to call them.
I think he really needs to get laid. ... funny, the other day I discovered a new way of putting a little spark back into my sex-life. pretend we're not together anymore and we're not supposed to be doing this...blah blah....anyway worked on me like a charm ;) .... usually my head is wayy too full with all kinds of crap and I just cannot concentrate. While D is trying to "get his groove on" I'm thinking, "how much sleep is this taking away from my night? was that Maia I just heard suckling on her pacifier? oh shit, I forgot to put away the noodles. dammit do I have to do everything around here? get away from me. I hate you."
luckily I encountered a miracle today when my dear husband greeted me with a hot bath after my day running around. I just asked for it and I got it. the tension in the middle east pales in comparison to the one which had built up in my back over the past few weeks/months. needless to say, the bath was about the best thing he could have done to get "booty-points", as I like to call them.
I think he really needs to get laid. ... funny, the other day I discovered a new way of putting a little spark back into my sex-life. pretend we're not together anymore and we're not supposed to be doing this...blah blah....anyway worked on me like a charm ;) .... usually my head is wayy too full with all kinds of crap and I just cannot concentrate. While D is trying to "get his groove on" I'm thinking, "how much sleep is this taking away from my night? was that Maia I just heard suckling on her pacifier? oh shit, I forgot to put away the noodles. dammit do I have to do everything around here? get away from me. I hate you."
sleep? que es eso?
so, after just having mopped the house for a half hour because my dog is on a puking/pooping spree since this afternoon I am now semi-awake, wondering whether I should try to become one of those early risers. you know the ones that get up at 5 am and then have 4 or 5 hours more of the day than the average person. maybe if I were to get to bed before 2 am this would be a feasible task...
Anyway, the reason I woke up in the first place is because my older daughter must have done a back-flip out of her bed, for she actually cracked open her lip. poor thing and not only because of the bloody lip but also because she must have definitely inherited the clumsy gene I carry on my sleeve (as a non-native English speaker I am not really sure if I am allowed to use this phrase in such context. but you know what I mean). One has to understand that we are talking about a toddler bed... a bed only about 26 in. off the floor.... I don't know what she was doing but she managed to sort of jump over the blankets padding the floor next to her bed (she falls out of her bed a lot...sigh) ...
oh well. so here I am. 5.19am.
what the hell am I doing. I should be going back to bed.
my stomach hurts again... don't want to go to a doctor for this problem. afraid they might attach a name to my symptoms and then it's official (ulcer, hernia, gastritis, whatever ... just something that will mess with my mind and possibly add some psychosomatic crap to the equation).
today is sept. 11. ... it's been three years since the WTC tragedy ... nothing is worse than that... I'm not important.
should go catch some z-s. a very good friend of mine lost her brother and is holding a memorial sermon for him at her church tomorrow. must not miss this.
Anyway, the reason I woke up in the first place is because my older daughter must have done a back-flip out of her bed, for she actually cracked open her lip. poor thing and not only because of the bloody lip but also because she must have definitely inherited the clumsy gene I carry on my sleeve (as a non-native English speaker I am not really sure if I am allowed to use this phrase in such context. but you know what I mean). One has to understand that we are talking about a toddler bed... a bed only about 26 in. off the floor.... I don't know what she was doing but she managed to sort of jump over the blankets padding the floor next to her bed (she falls out of her bed a lot...sigh) ...
oh well. so here I am. 5.19am.
what the hell am I doing. I should be going back to bed.
my stomach hurts again... don't want to go to a doctor for this problem. afraid they might attach a name to my symptoms and then it's official (ulcer, hernia, gastritis, whatever ... just something that will mess with my mind and possibly add some psychosomatic crap to the equation).
today is sept. 11. ... it's been three years since the WTC tragedy ... nothing is worse than that... I'm not important.
should go catch some z-s. a very good friend of mine lost her brother and is holding a memorial sermon for him at her church tomorrow. must not miss this.
Thursday, September 09, 2004
returning to school
well, returning to class is more like it since I am only taking one non-martriculated class this semester and have graduated 4 years ago. so, I already missed the first three classes (if I had a GPA to maintain, I'd be one grade down already in this country. obligatory attendance in college remains a mystery to me until this day, though, I have dutifully adhered to the policy during my college years here.)
anyway, so I am dragging my butt to class, wondering whether the professor has already dropped me for not showing up for the first three times (the first week I was on vacation and earlier this week I just forgot.... sigh...no comment here).
as I am walking down Shepard Hall heading for piano 101 or 201 or whatever, I wonder how I have managed to already have packed my bag so heavy. one would think I am carrying the damn piano around with me. I don't even have a book, yet... not even a syllabus... geez
In class, I assure the professor I have some knowledge of the instrument and play the one "impressive" bite of a piece I still remembered from 4 years of learning in high-school.
She is impressed indeed, until the moment she asks me to demonstrate some simple scales and I can't even find the damn C key (for the non-music majors this is like the center piece of the piano), let alone recite the rest of the octave.
I shrink into the bench I am sitting on.... "feel free to throw me into piano 1, please", I offer, "I'm just taking the class to get my kid into daycare here and I really am just happy to sit at a piano and practice scales again. "[note: one has to be a student at the college to have their kid in the childcare program.] "It's ok," she grunts and quickly explains how to do the scales. From the musical jargon I understand about one-10th and I try to copy her hand-movements mostly.
"I'm screwed", I think... "gotta remember to file for pass/fail option. when was the deadline? yesterday?" ...
oh well, graduated summa cum laude and then fail piano 1o1 ... that a woman.
anyway, so I am dragging my butt to class, wondering whether the professor has already dropped me for not showing up for the first three times (the first week I was on vacation and earlier this week I just forgot.... sigh...no comment here).
as I am walking down Shepard Hall heading for piano 101 or 201 or whatever, I wonder how I have managed to already have packed my bag so heavy. one would think I am carrying the damn piano around with me. I don't even have a book, yet... not even a syllabus... geez
In class, I assure the professor I have some knowledge of the instrument and play the one "impressive" bite of a piece I still remembered from 4 years of learning in high-school.
She is impressed indeed, until the moment she asks me to demonstrate some simple scales and I can't even find the damn C key (for the non-music majors this is like the center piece of the piano), let alone recite the rest of the octave.
I shrink into the bench I am sitting on.... "feel free to throw me into piano 1, please", I offer, "I'm just taking the class to get my kid into daycare here and I really am just happy to sit at a piano and practice scales again. "[note: one has to be a student at the college to have their kid in the childcare program.] "It's ok," she grunts and quickly explains how to do the scales. From the musical jargon I understand about one-10th and I try to copy her hand-movements mostly.
"I'm screwed", I think... "gotta remember to file for pass/fail option. when was the deadline? yesterday?" ...
oh well, graduated summa cum laude and then fail piano 1o1 ... that a woman.
Tuesday, September 07, 2004
cape cod vacation report
day one:
want to leave by 10 am. make it out the house by 2:30pm. get to cape cod 11p.m. (i.e. take 4 hours longer than mapquest predicted). swear to not do this ever again. then remember have to come back to nyc.
realize I shouldn't have let dario trick me into coming to cape cod without him. now stuck with all work of two little kids by myself. mom here but as guest mostly. cannot take more than an hour with two-year-old then cracks and has hysterical fit. realize where my patience (or the lack of it) is coming from.
day two:
enlist my mother for only a minute of toddler watch, while I help Rosa carry something upstairs. come back down. mom is making tea and maia is gone. I run outside. no maia. run to front of house (where street is) and catch last glimpse of maia disappearing in neighbor's yard carrying a basketball. I dart on street and break all currently existing olympic sprinting records to get maia from neighbor's yard. want to cry and stuff but can't. want to beat her but can't. don't know how to make her understand that such behavior is terrorizingly scary. maybe I should beat her after all so she'll remember. but can't. too happy and grateful that nothing happened.
mom feels guilty but doesn't know what to say. me neither. starting to get cured of my latest house hunger (i.e. no more desire for any suburbian life. begin to appreciate confinements of city apartment living.)
day three:
finally make it out the house and to the beach before sunset. it's kinda cold. bathing suit is put ad acta (probably for the better anyway. post-partum body view spared to poor onlookers).
maia collects seashells with grandma while I try to shield my 4-month old (nayla) from hurrican-like winds.
when leaving beach mom can't find her sandals. claims have cost her a hundred bucks. she's close to crying so I decide to swallow my comment that they look like "payless". damn ghetto cape cod bastards must have stolen shoes. ;) ... mom can't see humor in any of my comments. is close to panic. tell her that shoes have probably been carried up the hill to exit by someone thinking they've been lost. turns out to be true. mom relaxes. I make mistake to tell her that panic in her eyes about lost shoes has been more strikingly intense than panic when Maia got lost. meant it as joke but mom doesn't think it's funny. is offended.
exhausted. fall asleep at 9pm when putting down kids. get back up 11:30. everyone went to bed. go to 7-11 to full-fill bad cravings. pay 8 dollars for ice-cream i didn't want to pay $4 for earlier in day while shopping at normal-prized supermarket. don't give a shit. deserve it.
day four:
things begin to be a blur. need sleep and another parent in the house whom I can blame as responsible. maia now accomplished escape artist. all features of house which looked great on website before arrival have now turned into dearly hated toddler dangerzones (hot-tub in back, second floor deck, huge house, etc.). need food. no time to eat. have lived on oreo-cookies all day while the rest of the vacation troop (13 people) eat lobster for lunch and dinner.
contemplating about ways to keep track of 2-year old. seriously consider henna-tattoo on Maia "If lost, please call ...". Fantasize about implantation of GPS device in toddler. must come in handy when teenager, too. good investment. wonder if possible.
other alternatives: dog-collar thingy (electric fence?) .. too cruel? .... beeper thingy ...but not effective cause will only let me know when toddler moves further than 20 feet away... -> but where to??...so basically, is device that tells me kid is lost.
day five:
need vacation from vacation.
decide to take mom and kids to beach far away from all.
nice day. mom walks/dances with baby in snugli and Santana in ear up and down the shore. then waves to couple of sea-lions close by shore. I try not to look related to her. she calls me loudly (because headphones on) "Siiiiisi, wave to the sealions!!! Come on! They can see us!"
I pretend to be very involved with maia's sand-castle architecture (..... sand-castle desperately in need of both - architecture and involvement).
after beach we go to Provincetown. loving it although temperatures and winds call for immediate trip to sweater shop. explain to mom that P-town is eldorado of gay people. Mom didn't realize and begins to pay attention. entertaining to watch mom. ;)
eat seven dollar cheese sandwich. decide to skip the coke(save money) and go home for thirst quenching.
day six:
long night. when it's not the kids it's my too vivid imagination keeping me up. can't get over the fact that we're staying in an old schoolhouse (from 1800s). have made mistake of reading historical clippings framed in hallways. saw one picture of little kids with creepy looking eyes. beg not to read about any deaths in article next to picture. read about death of one child in front of school-house. struck by horse-carriage in 1846. school-house closed after that. .... sigh. won't sleep now for sure. ...what's that noise???
Adam (one of Rosa's kids) tells me plot of The Others. ... really didn't need to know that.
decide I want to go home now. maybe better for all of us.
day seven:
dario arrives. praise the lord. i get a day off! or something like it.
i get sick. spend day in bed. come out only in evening to look for some food and coffee. try to heat up old coffee in microwave. cup very hot. spill it all over my hand. in pain bang my ankle on open kitchen cabinet door. "first-aid" myself with anti-burn cream and such. return to bed.
day eight:
last day at beach. freezing but I'm making dario walk in sand with me. i'm having my romantic walk on the beach and that's that. Dario cuts himself on seashell. Maia climbs onto life-guard tower. ... and mom is dancing to Santana somewhere with baby wipped around by wind.
plan to leave cape no later than 8pm. make it out the house by 11pm. positive onlook: no holiday traffic now for sure and kids asleep (no stopping, no screaming, no hassle). going 80mph most of the way arrive in nyc 4 hours later. Maia awake. 3:15 am. Decides she wants to play with her "little people". too tired to argue. Maia goes to sleep 4 am. wakes up 11 am. consider this method for future use, when getting to bed late. just wake up maia in middle of night to play for while, so she'll sleep in the morning. Bad parenting anyone? .... Unfortunately, I still have to get up with baby at 7 a.m. Day flies by my deliriously tired self. Take afternoon nap. Leave house with kids at sunset to get at least a little bit of fresh air. Pick playground where something must have died a week ago in the neighbouring woods. Feel like puking most of time. Maia seems to not care. Have to drag her out after we (adults) cannot possibly take it any minute longer.
want to leave by 10 am. make it out the house by 2:30pm. get to cape cod 11p.m. (i.e. take 4 hours longer than mapquest predicted). swear to not do this ever again. then remember have to come back to nyc.
realize I shouldn't have let dario trick me into coming to cape cod without him. now stuck with all work of two little kids by myself. mom here but as guest mostly. cannot take more than an hour with two-year-old then cracks and has hysterical fit. realize where my patience (or the lack of it) is coming from.
day two:
enlist my mother for only a minute of toddler watch, while I help Rosa carry something upstairs. come back down. mom is making tea and maia is gone. I run outside. no maia. run to front of house (where street is) and catch last glimpse of maia disappearing in neighbor's yard carrying a basketball. I dart on street and break all currently existing olympic sprinting records to get maia from neighbor's yard. want to cry and stuff but can't. want to beat her but can't. don't know how to make her understand that such behavior is terrorizingly scary. maybe I should beat her after all so she'll remember. but can't. too happy and grateful that nothing happened.
mom feels guilty but doesn't know what to say. me neither. starting to get cured of my latest house hunger (i.e. no more desire for any suburbian life. begin to appreciate confinements of city apartment living.)
day three:
finally make it out the house and to the beach before sunset. it's kinda cold. bathing suit is put ad acta (probably for the better anyway. post-partum body view spared to poor onlookers).
maia collects seashells with grandma while I try to shield my 4-month old (nayla) from hurrican-like winds.
when leaving beach mom can't find her sandals. claims have cost her a hundred bucks. she's close to crying so I decide to swallow my comment that they look like "payless". damn ghetto cape cod bastards must have stolen shoes. ;) ... mom can't see humor in any of my comments. is close to panic. tell her that shoes have probably been carried up the hill to exit by someone thinking they've been lost. turns out to be true. mom relaxes. I make mistake to tell her that panic in her eyes about lost shoes has been more strikingly intense than panic when Maia got lost. meant it as joke but mom doesn't think it's funny. is offended.
exhausted. fall asleep at 9pm when putting down kids. get back up 11:30. everyone went to bed. go to 7-11 to full-fill bad cravings. pay 8 dollars for ice-cream i didn't want to pay $4 for earlier in day while shopping at normal-prized supermarket. don't give a shit. deserve it.
day four:
things begin to be a blur. need sleep and another parent in the house whom I can blame as responsible. maia now accomplished escape artist. all features of house which looked great on website before arrival have now turned into dearly hated toddler dangerzones (hot-tub in back, second floor deck, huge house, etc.). need food. no time to eat. have lived on oreo-cookies all day while the rest of the vacation troop (13 people) eat lobster for lunch and dinner.
contemplating about ways to keep track of 2-year old. seriously consider henna-tattoo on Maia "If lost, please call ...". Fantasize about implantation of GPS device in toddler. must come in handy when teenager, too. good investment. wonder if possible.
other alternatives: dog-collar thingy (electric fence?) .. too cruel? .... beeper thingy ...but not effective cause will only let me know when toddler moves further than 20 feet away... -> but where to??...so basically, is device that tells me kid is lost.
day five:
need vacation from vacation.
decide to take mom and kids to beach far away from all.
nice day. mom walks/dances with baby in snugli and Santana in ear up and down the shore. then waves to couple of sea-lions close by shore. I try not to look related to her. she calls me loudly (because headphones on) "Siiiiisi, wave to the sealions!!! Come on! They can see us!"
I pretend to be very involved with maia's sand-castle architecture (..... sand-castle desperately in need of both - architecture and involvement).
after beach we go to Provincetown. loving it although temperatures and winds call for immediate trip to sweater shop. explain to mom that P-town is eldorado of gay people. Mom didn't realize and begins to pay attention. entertaining to watch mom. ;)
eat seven dollar cheese sandwich. decide to skip the coke(save money) and go home for thirst quenching.
day six:
long night. when it's not the kids it's my too vivid imagination keeping me up. can't get over the fact that we're staying in an old schoolhouse (from 1800s). have made mistake of reading historical clippings framed in hallways. saw one picture of little kids with creepy looking eyes. beg not to read about any deaths in article next to picture. read about death of one child in front of school-house. struck by horse-carriage in 1846. school-house closed after that. .... sigh. won't sleep now for sure. ...what's that noise???
Adam (one of Rosa's kids) tells me plot of The Others. ... really didn't need to know that.
decide I want to go home now. maybe better for all of us.
day seven:
dario arrives. praise the lord. i get a day off! or something like it.
i get sick. spend day in bed. come out only in evening to look for some food and coffee. try to heat up old coffee in microwave. cup very hot. spill it all over my hand. in pain bang my ankle on open kitchen cabinet door. "first-aid" myself with anti-burn cream and such. return to bed.
day eight:
last day at beach. freezing but I'm making dario walk in sand with me. i'm having my romantic walk on the beach and that's that. Dario cuts himself on seashell. Maia climbs onto life-guard tower. ... and mom is dancing to Santana somewhere with baby wipped around by wind.
plan to leave cape no later than 8pm. make it out the house by 11pm. positive onlook: no holiday traffic now for sure and kids asleep (no stopping, no screaming, no hassle). going 80mph most of the way arrive in nyc 4 hours later. Maia awake. 3:15 am. Decides she wants to play with her "little people". too tired to argue. Maia goes to sleep 4 am. wakes up 11 am. consider this method for future use, when getting to bed late. just wake up maia in middle of night to play for while, so she'll sleep in the morning. Bad parenting anyone? .... Unfortunately, I still have to get up with baby at 7 a.m. Day flies by my deliriously tired self. Take afternoon nap. Leave house with kids at sunset to get at least a little bit of fresh air. Pick playground where something must have died a week ago in the neighbouring woods. Feel like puking most of time. Maia seems to not care. Have to drag her out after we (adults) cannot possibly take it any minute longer.
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