SHE"S BAAAAAACK!

So, once upon a time, I had this friend.  I loved her like a sister. She was funny, smart, clever, talented, and an amazingly good time. I already told you what my town was like, and how desperately I needed to escape. Unfortunately, in the course of my escape I left her behind. I went off to college and got caught up with the wild side of that life. I was finding myself while losing myself daily. And she was home. 

She went to school, too. But she commuted, and eventually it was too much for her. She quit and went to work. She moved in with a guy that wasn't good enough for her, and I told her as much. We grew apart. I lost her. But I always figured it was a natural deterioration, sad but nothing personal. Still, I always missed her, and lamented the loss of one of the best relationships of my life.

Then, about 10 years later, we found each other. I don't remember who found who, but that isn't the point. The point is that I found out the absolution of our relationship was very personal. She walked back into my life to prove to me that she had made good choices. She brought her wonderful little baby, who looked just like her baby pictures, and bragged about her life as a mom and a married woman. Then she dropped a bomb on me. She had purposely pulled away from me because I was too judgmental of her mate and the life she had chosen. She felt I didn't support her, and I crushed her by abandoning her. My heart broke. Then she walked back out of my life. 

Now, she's back again. I am uneasy with this reincarnation, but at the same time I want a second chance. I'm afraid that I'll let her down again, but I can't help but reach out. In many ways, she's still one of the smartest, funniest, most clever people I've ever known. And the one afternoon we met for coffee felt so comfortable, like sliding right back into a pair of old jeans. 

Still, is it like this for her? Is she waiting for me to hurt her again? What can we be to each other at this point? How can I navigate a relationship with her if her husband (rightly) hates me? After all, I talked so much smack about him, but in the end I was the one who hurt her. My husband says we can never have what once was. Logically, I know this and emotionally I'm not even sure I'd want it. But still, never? If that's true, what am I doing? And what do I want? 

I invited her to dinner. 

House on Mango Street

I feel like Sandra Cisneros as I write this, but my hometown is a tough place to live. I don't want to sound like an NPR douche, but it just doesn't match my values. I think I have to leave, or burn it down, or something. My husband, Homemaker Man, and I bought our house almost 2 years ago. I really wanted to own a home and we don't make much money (with my job as a teacher and his as a homemaker), so we needed to move out of the urbane neighborhoods we'd been living in for almost 20 years. Basically, we couldn't afford to own where we lived.

So... Cue drum roll... I suggested my old city. After all, it is reasonably safe for a working class town, the schools still have strong art and sports programs. The people are hard working, and neighborly. I'd be able to give something back.  And, best of all, we could afford it. Sounds good, right?

My G-D, was I delusional.

Right now, in this moment, I have no idea why I did this. I hated living here as a kid. I hated it so much that I left at 16 on my own, and didn't return until now, in my mid-thirties. There were other factors in my exodus, but hating this town was high on the list. It is provincial, narrow, racist, ignorant, dirty and poor. The local politicians are so ass-backwards that they make the most idiotic, lazy mistakes. The business owners don't invest in their community; they are like absentee landlords. And the citizens don't get actively involved in anything but complaining.  

Everything good about the town (and there are good things) is sucked out by this all-encompassing self-loathing shame that the citizens seem to feel for their community. As a group, they hate change and resist it at all cost, and they fear the unknown.  They hate themselves for still living here, but they hate the thought of leaving. As individuals, they are generous, neighborly and thoughtful. They take pride in their homes and families. They are very difficult people.

My town is the fat paste-eater in preschool. It's the smelly kid in grade school. It's the stupid, white trash bully in middle school. It's the pregnant chick smoking outside of study hall in high school. My town sucks. Why did I move back here?

I am planning my next exodus; it should take about 5 years. Moving with kids is way more complicated. I wish I could just run away again. 

D-I-V-O-R-C-E!!!

My husband and I never (and I know everyone says this), never, never fought before the children were born. We knew each other for about 15 years before the birth of our first, were roommates for 14 of those years, and romantically involved for 5. In that time, we had a few fights as roommates over dishes and late bills, we had a fight as friends over wearing headphones during a conversation, and we had a few fights as a couple over not spending enough time together and petty jealousy (mostly mine).

Since the peanut was born 2 years ago, we haven't stopped fighting. It got a little better when peanut was about 1 until the pumpkin man was born, but never really let up. Now, we are at each other's throats again. We still love each other, without a doubt. We still want to be together, and affirm this after every fight. But we are relentless, and we can't seem to give each other a break. 

Seriously, we fight about everything and nothing, from kid stuff: when the diaper pail needs to be changed, how much the peanut ate during the day, how to clean chocolate milk stains, where to put the kiddie pool -- to house stuff: when and how to deal with Kevin and Fat Tony, how much to spend on fish, how much mulch we need, when to get the mail from the box, when to throw food out -- to global issues: the economy, politics, human issues, neighborhood ideology, family crap -- to intimacy: what we share with others, when to have sex, how much we love each other, who is listening to whom, and why we can't communicate.  

I know I love him, and there is no one else for me in this world. I don't want to be in this life, or any other, with anyone else. The thought D-word makes my throat close and chest seize up. I can't breathe without him. He is the center of my world and the anchor of my sanity. I can't remember life without him, and I don't want to. I loved him before I ever met him, and I will love him long after we are gone. Forever, and Forever, and Forever...

Mostly, I think I'm just a bitch and he needs more sleep. Like he says, "we just need to hold on."

Open letter to all the moms that watch me feed my daughter and judge:

Hello, snotty witches.

My babies tend to run small, so a lot of what I planned with my daughter (peanut) became history when she stopped making her weight checks after her first birthday-- not forcing food, offering only whole grains, organics, no sugar or junk, etc... Suddenly, it was McDonalds, trading M&Ms for bites, bribery, sugar, butter, fried food, processed crap, you name it.

Not all babies will eat what they need. I'm sure you are right that most will, but I know first hand that not all will. Once my baby was deemed too thin, I did whatever it took to put weight on her. Let your doctor start talking about tube feedings, developmental delays and genetic testing; let your child be considered borderline "failure to thrive" -- then we'll see how long you can keep singing your holier than thou tune.

I'm sure this wasn't what you meant when you told me that I was spoiling my daughter and giving her bad eating habits, and I know you didn't have this information when you rolled your eyes at me and snickered to your friend behind my back after listening to me beg and negotiate with her to take a few more bites. I just want to point out that there are many roads to good parenting. I'm glad yours is working for you. Now, kindly F-off.

Thanks.

P.S. My children NEVER ate baby food (we made every meal), they don't drink juice and I breastfed peanut for a year and am still going with the pumpkin man. Still feel superior?

Worst label, EVER

My daughter is now 27 months old. At her two year appointment, our pediatrician informed us that she was still "off the chart," which apparently means she weighs less than the entire charted population of American babies. Okay, so I exaggerate, but only a little. Then she busts out with the worst statement I've ever heard. I've heard a lot of bad statements -- "I don't love you anymore," "I don't believe you," "you will not be able to have kids," "she may have trisome 13," "you can't live here anymore," "your father is dead," and the previous title holder: "your mother will live."

So what were these dreaded words? "Failure to thrive."

That's right, folks. the peanut fits the technical definition of "failure to thrive," which basically means she has weighed too little for too long. One possible remedy? Tube feeding while she sleeps. You did read that correctly. They stick a tube down her throat while she sleeps and pump food into her belly. Seriously, can this get worse?

Yes, oh yes, it can. The genetic tests have all come back negative so far, and the main contributer to FTT -- go ahead, you'll never guess. Parental neglect. My 2 year old child -- the one who never ate baby food from a jar, the one who slept in my room until she was 8 months old, the one who was breastfed for a year even though it took seven specialists to teach us how, the one who can count to 50 in English and 10 in Spanish, speaks in 4 to 5 word sentences, recognizes all her letters in print, reads 4 sight words and can really, truly count to 4, -- is possibly neglected? I'm feeling dizzy at this point.

So, what do you do when your precious baby is given this label? We celebrated with nuggets and fries from McDonalds.

This Old House

We suck at home improvement stuff. It doesn't really bother me, but it depresses my husband, Homemaker Man. I figure we'll just hire someone to fix things when we have the money, but he feels like its his "job" to fix stuff around the house. The problem is that we live in a house that was built in the 1800's, so something is always broken or breaking.

This need to master tool use must be a guy thing. I say that knowing my husband isn't normally the type of guy that gets all hung up on stereotypical roles (obviously, since he's a stay at home dad), but for some reason his inability to use tools really gets under his skin.

Homemaker Man had to hang a door on the peanut's room when we moved her out of the nursery into her "big girl" room. It turned into a very long project, and still isn't really done. He measured the door like 6 times and went to home depot to buy a door. Then he hung it and it didn't fit, so he bought a planer and tried to plane it into shape.

I'm not sure if the doorway is crooked or if its my huband, but he must have shaved an inch off the side and bottom. At this point the door still needs a knob and slowly creaks open if you don't jam a sock in it. And I'll just leave it alone because I know I couldn't have done better.

Do you have any idea how long it takes to shave an inch off a door? Sadly, I do.

Swimming vs Drowning

                                                                   

I took the peanut to "family swim" last night by myself! It was totally scary because I had to talk to people I didn't know, she was slippery, wet and way too adventurous: refusing to hold my hand, suddenly plopping down, trying to walk up to her neck, jumping...

Several times I was sure I'd have to call Homemaker Man from the hospital. That would have been quite the conversation. At one point, she suddenly just sits down, so that the water is well over her head (6 to 8 inches). Then everything moves in slow motion: I panic and reach down to grab her. She looks up at me through the water; a cloud of red curls swirling around her heard -- huge green eyes open wide -- and smiles. Yes, smiles underwater. I swear, it was like she was trying to drown herself.

We went to the pool a few time before my pumpkin was born, but Homemaker Man was there and it was easier (she was also much less brave). I can't imagine how stay at home moms manage scary things like water all time. I felt like one of those Dads who takes his kids out on Saturday morning so Mom can sleep... Pathetic.