uhoh this is harder than I thought!

•July 13, 2009 • Leave a Comment

I have to figure out a better time to post during the day because I am getting closer and closer to midnight! I helped the hubby install some Owens Corning insulation panels in the basement (and used some of my new-found math skills!) I did eldest daughter’s hair and we all went out to dinner for eldest son’s 21st birthday!

Everyone was tired and silly and we started reminiscing on the way home and telling “yo mama” jokes and stuff. We remembered an incident many years ago when youngest daughter was about 7 or 8 (she is 12 now) and we were driving on the highway and eldest son was teasing her and she couldn’t think of a comeback so she pointed to a billboard and said ” Oh yeah? That’s what you look like sitting on the toilet!”. It was a life insurance ad of a man in business attire smiling/laughing with an expression of glee and satisfaction. We all laughed for 20 minutes  to the point of tears and every day that we drove home that way we continued to laugh like jackals until they changed the billboard……..We really miss that billboard :-(

This is the closest representation of the billboard I could find.....

This is the closest representation of the billboard I could find.....

Bliss List

•July 12, 2009 • 2 Comments

This posting everyday bit is rather difficult, and the dog days of Summer do not lend themselves to ambitious delusions……….

So I am  taking a hint from some of my blogroll buddies and making a bliss list!

  1. COFFEE  – I can’t live without, its been a love affair for the past 26 years. Dunkin Donuts, Starbucks, Pilon, Cafe Bustelo, cold, hot, latte, espresso, cappucino………..bliss
  2. ROCK AND ROLL – Ever since I laid on the floor of my first crush’s living room and heard Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath through a pair of big ole black headphones it has been a necessity. Aerosmith,  Bon Jovi, Black Crows, Nirvana,  Jane’s Addiction, Stone Temple Pilots, Red Hot Chili Peppers……..I could go on and on and on. Shredding guitar solos, screeching, what can I say? They know my pain and impotent rage and I love it!
  3. THE SOUND OF MY CHILDREN’S LAUGHTER  – ‘Nuff said, it reminds me that I didn’t recreate my childhood torture tomb in my own home.
  4. MY HUSBAND’S GAZE – It reminds me that I am highly valued and wanted……..even if it seems overtly physical ;-)
  5. COLLEGE – I don’t want to sound like Asher Roth, but man I love College. I love reading, I love expounding, I love learning, man I love College…..
  6. YOGA – I wish I was a few pounds lighter and minus the lower back injury, because 8-10 years ago I was a pretzel-like yoga beast! Asanas aside,  my true favorite thing about yoga at this point in my life is savasana,  I get a lot of bliss and peace and clarity during “corpse pose”.
  7. SATISFYING SEX – Hey,  I’m human! I happen to be rather earthy and sensual. I lost it for awhile during my Church walk but it’s coming back.  There is nothing wrong with a little bump and grind folks…
  8. COOKING – I love preparing and serving food,  aany kind of food, entrees, side dishes, desserts, beverages.  I love to watch people eating and enjoying my food.
  9. BLOGGING – This has been one of the best experiences of my life.  I have “met” so many wonderful, inspiring,special, hilarious people.  I love the support I’ve received. I love this outlet to express myself, albeit anonymously ;-)
  10. THERAPY WITH DR.K. -  Although he probably would deny it, I believe he has reintroduced me to myself. I cannot express the gratitude and indebtedness I feel for being so perfectly supported, contained,upheld, understood. And yeah, yeah , yeah I know it is his job and he gets paid for it, but seriously? He doesn;t have to do it as well as he does, and that means the world to me………

Advice From A Caterpillar

•July 11, 2009 • 1 Comment

My friend Ceecee had a major knee reconstruction/replacement surgery. She is the mother of my 19 month old godson Kaden. On a whim I decided to drop by and try to be helpful by taking him for the night so she could get a good night’s sleep. Kaden is quite a character. He has a very expressive face that he uses to great advantage.  Mugging like a slapstick comedian he frowns, grins and waggles his eyebrows much to everyone’s amusement. He has cocoa brown skin and curly black hair. He is VERY attached to Ceecee. He was a bit of a surprise, arriving on the scene with the oldest sibling 20 years old and the youngest 7 years old. She is a very patient and indulgent mother. My hat goes off to her, after one night with him I am exhausted :-)

We had a pleasant car ride from his home to mine. I turned back and winked or made faces at him at every red light. When we got to the house he was still in good spirits. After a few hours he became fretful and fussy. As the night went on I could not get him to eat anything at all. After a short crying jag I got him to sit in my lap while I watched “So You Think You Can Dance”. I absentmindedly rubbed his legs as he lay back upon my chest. I worked my hand up to his little potbelly and began to rub it in a circular motion. As I rubbed, I felt a protuberance just below his sternum. Hmmm, I thought to myself, I didn’t know he had an “outie”. Then I caught myself and thought his belly button is not beneath his STERNUM! I started palpating this oddity with three fingers. I ran my three fingers over his ribs, than around the strange “growth”. Around it, around it, around it,  until I had a rough idea of the dimensions. It felt like it was about the size of the tip of my pinky finger to the first joint. I tried to imagine what it might be and all I could come up with was a hernia. I just couldn’t figure out why my manipulating it didn’t cause him distress.

After I put him to bed I called Ceecee. “He is doing fine, he just went to bed. I couldn’t get him to eat anything at all. Hey, does he happen to have a hernia? Right below his sternum?” I asked casually. “You felt that too?’ she asked in a low tone. “Yeah, have you looked into that? I queried.  “He had a physical in May. His actual doctor was not available, but the doctor that was there said it was nothing.” Ceecee said. “Nothing? She felt it and said it was NOTHING?” I ask incredulously. “Yes WD, she said it was a muscle or something.” Ceecee responded. “A muscle? Stomach muscles are flat, I mean, I know I’m not a doctor but from what I know of human anatomy and physiology there is nothing below the sternum that protrudes. If this is a hernia, it could be potentially deadly.” I insisted. She responds that she felt suspicious about the whole thing but she disregarded it because the doctor completely discounted it.

I keep pressing her about it, something just doesn’t add up. The doctor didn’t order an ultrasound or xray? The doctor was not concerned about his failure to gain weight for 4 months or his chronic constipation. I don’t want to unnecessarily alarm my infirm friend but all of my warning bells are chiming. Then the disembodied voices of my family of origin swirl around me. They hiss allegations ALARMIST, DRAMATIC, YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT! YOU ARE NOT A DOCTOR!

“I am taking him to the doctor’s tomorrow.” Ceecee says with steely resolve. After running a few early morning errands, I bring Kaden home. I hang out for about 3 hours and try to help out. Ceecee is in a lot of pain, she has a 6 inch incision over her knee. She is wearing a newfangled ice pack brace and her bed is a little island with everything she needs to survive until her convalescence is finished. I feel really guilty because she has scheduled a doctor’s appointment with her son’s primary care practitioner for 4:45 pm. This will entail a mad dash across the city during rush hour traffic. How is she going to handle being out and about 10 days after surgery? What if it is really nothing?

I tried several times to call or text Ceecee with no reply. By then I had conjured up all types of paranoid fantasies as to why she wasn’t returning my calls. After almost 5 hours I get a call from Ceecee. “Hi honey, I couldn’t get any signal in that hospital, I knew you were freaking out.” she starts. I frantically ask if everything is ok and what happened? “Well that thing you felt that you thought was a hernia? That was something called the xiphoid process, do you know what that is?’ Ceecee asks. “Yeah that’s the thing that can break off when you are doing CPR and lacerate someone’s spleen.” I answer. “Yup, well in a baby it has more give because of cartilage. It was poking out because Jaden’s intestines were impacted with feces all the way into his ribcage.” she says with a tone of weary wonderment.

She proceeds to tell me of several harrowing hours of the doctor massaging and manipulating Kaden’s stomach as he emptied out black, tarry, fetid stools and wept in excruciating pain. When he was done his mood immediately lightened and he even ate something. The doctor told Ceecee that he probably had 7 days before he went septic and either died or needed most of his intestines removed requiring an ostomy.”WD, I thank God for you, stop thinking you are crazy and doubting your instincts, because you saved my baby’s life.” Ceecee said plainly.

ribcage

digestive_tract

I was just stunned…..Ceecee told me this morning, after going poo several more times, he ate a bluberry bagel I brought over the day before. “He said, mmm, this is good.” she said with pride and I could hear the smile in her voice.

alice-in-wonderland-caterpillar-and-hookah

The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.

`Who are you?’ said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, `I–I hardly know, sir, just at present– at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.’

`What do you mean by that?’ said the Caterpillar sternly. `Explain yourself!’

`I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, sir’ said Alice, `because I’m not myself, you see.’

`I don’t see,’ said the Caterpillar.

`I’m afraid I can’t put it more clearly,’ Alice replied very politely, `for I can’t understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.’

`It isn’t,’ said the Caterpillar.

`Well, perhaps you haven’t found it so yet,’ said Alice; `but when you have to turn into a chrysalis–you will some day, you know–and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you’ll feel it a little queer, won’t you?’

`Not a bit,’ said the Caterpillar.

`Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,’ said Alice; `all I know is, it would feel very queer to me.’

`You!’ said the Caterpillar contemptuously. `Who are you?’

Curiouser and curiouser….

•July 10, 2009 • 3 Comments

Ok something really crazy is going on with me and little kids over the past 6 days… I guess I’ve helped to save another child’s life tonight. I can’t imagine what the universe is trying to tell me? I may just get a messiah complex.:-)

It’s really late and I can’t do a whole post justice tonight I promise I will elaborate tomorrow……

Enjoy this song for now……

Thank You For Hearing Me

Sinead O’Connor

Thank you for hearing me
Thank you for hearing me
Thank you for hearing me
Thank you for hearing me

Thank you for loving me
Thank you for loving me
Thank you for loving me
Thank you for loving me

Thank you for seeing me
Thank you for seeing me
Thank you for seeing me
Thank you for seeing me

And for not leaving me
And for not leaving me
And for not leaving me
And for not leaving me

Thank you for staying with me
Thank you for staying with me
Thank you for staying with me
Thank you for staying with me

Thanks for not hurting me
Thanks for not hurting me
Thanks for not hurting me
Thanks for not hurting me

You are gentle with me
You are gentle with me
You are gentle with me
You are gentle with me

Thanks for silence with me
Thanks for silence with me
Thanks for silence with me
Thanks for silence with me

Thank you for holding me
And saying “I could be”
Thank you for saying “Baby”
Thank you for holding me

Thank you for helping me
Thank you for helping me
Thank you for helping me
Thank you, thank you for helping me

Thank you for breaking my heart
Thank you for tearing me apart
Now I’ve a strong, strong heart
Thank you for breaking my heart

Alice in a pool of tears

•July 9, 2009 • 4 Comments

I had a very busy day today and did not get around to posting until far too late so this won’t be a mammoth undertaking.  I am dead set against failing at NaBloPoMo so I am posting SOMETHING nonetheless.

I went to the library and as fate would have it,  or some other force more pointless and painful, I picked out the book  “Soul Murder: The Effects of Childhood Abuse and Deprivation” by Leonard Shengold, M.D. I thought it would be a compilation of case studies of heinous child abuse and in some manner it is. (Un)fortunately it is also  a classical Freudian analytical viewpoint. So right about now these are the buzz words flying around my head…..

EGO REGRESSION, UNDEVELOPED HEART, HYPNOTIC EVASION, EGO DISSOLUTION, PRIMAL PARENT……..

I am very on edge, keyed up, stressed out, pissed off…….. This feels the same way I felt when I learned about transference. That Dr. K. is fully aware of stuff going on with me that I am totally in denial of………..I feel exposed and duped and embarrassed.

I also feel like I found out things that were missing pieces of the puzzle and now I can fill out that tricky bit in the corner that’s been haunting me all this time….

It also makes me sad.

It also makes me excited.

It makes me really want to be a Psychoanalyst!……….I mean I’m half way there right? I’ve got the psycho part down pat……….:-)

alice07th

I wish I hadn’t cried so much!’ said Alice, as she swam about, trying to find her way out. `I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears! That will be a queer thing, to be sure! However, everything is queer to-day.’

Who stole the tarts? (Day 7)

•July 8, 2009 • 2 Comments

After sharing with my husband, I walked back towards the wave pool. Everything felt floaty, surreal. The shining sun felt like a lie. Eventually my waiting family came into focus, I tried to shake off the feelings of dissociation as I approached. I gave a clipped, monotone recitation of the emergency in the bathroom. I began to fuss and putter. Picking up towels and folding them. Gathering everyone’s belongings and putting them in the appropriate totes and satchels. As I moved robotically about the lounge chairs I saw a little boy standing by a column. He was wearing a robin’s egg blue one piece swimsuit with a built in flotation device. He was barely three years old and he was crying hysterically. I turned around and frowned. I looked to the left and right, the place was pretty sparsely populated and the nearest people seemed to be oblivious. “Is he lost?” I asked one of our friends that came to the amusement park with us. “I don’t know? I think he is.” our friend replied as he scanned the park with a worried expression.

Someone notified a park attendent and he walked over to ask the little boy his name or where his mommy was or something of that sort. The little boy had chestnut brown skin. He had big brown eyes and sandy brown tightly coiled short-cropped hair. He was weeping inconsolably. When the park attendent approached him he backed away, his little legs trembling. “No, no, no!” he sobbed as he shook his head emphatically from side to side. We watched with interest and periodically looked up and down the length of the lounge area of the waterpark expecting the frantic parent(s) to appear.

Another cockier attendant approached, smiling smugly as if abandoned, distraught preschoolers are the most entertaining thing ever. He knelt down and leaned towards the screaming baby. The baby backed up again and screamed even louder, “No, no, no! I scared! I scared!”  he shrieked and then he punched the presumptuous attendant square in the mug. The guy reeled back, caught by surprise, smiled again and walked away. Twenty minutes elapsed and I began to get agitated. I literally turned my back at one point because I couldn’t stomach his fear drenched eyes.

A police officer approached and asked the attendant to fetch some cold water. The child took it after a bit of cajoling. The cop asked our friend to try speaking to the child in Spanish. This sent the child into a new wave of hysterics, he was sputtering, screaming, and hiccuping spasmodically. I had enough, I grabbed my gear and trudged back towards the changing rooms, stopping long enough to commiserate with the impromptu Greek chorus that had gathered ’round. I added my assent that the family should be filed on immediately and the child taken into custody. One half of an hour later, I was told that our friend’s wife was able to win the confidence of the child and soothe him enough to lead him down the causeway accompanied by the cop and the first park attendant. When they attempted to leave the wave pool area, his resolve disintegrated again and he began to scream again. The entourage decided to take a break and sat on some lounge chairs until he calmed down.

A concerned father was led into the water park area. The boy leaped up immediately and ran to his father. At this point a woman less than 20 feet away, got out of her lounge chair and approached the man and the boy saying nonchalantly, “That’s my son.”

She was sitting 50 feet away from the whole debacle the entire half hour.

A female park attendant said that was the second time the child was lost that day.

They let those &%*$#@!?%^&  people take that kid……

ryanlerch_Alice_

Just at this moment Alice felt a very curious sensation, which puzzled her a good deal until she made out what it was: she was beginning to grow larger again, and she thought at first she would get up and leave the court; but on second thoughts she decided to remain where she was as long as there was room for her.

`I wish you wouldn’t squeeze so.’ said the Dormouse, who was sitting next to her. `I can hardly breathe.’

`I can’t help it,’ said Alice very meekly: `I’m growing.’

`You’ve no right to grow here,’ said the Dormouse.

`Don’t talk nonsense,’ said Alice more boldly: `you know you’re growing too.’

`Yes, but I grow at a reasonable pace,’ said the Dormouse: `not in that ridiculous fashion.’ And he got up very sulkily and crossed over to the other side of the court.

Alice chats with the Duchess (Day 6)

•July 6, 2009 • 4 Comments

After several hours in the water park. lolling about and happily burning I decided to go change my clothes. The line to the ladies room was very long. Unfortunately, the restroom and showers/changing area shared the same entrance, this made waiting chaotic and tedious. Several people ahead of me, there was a pleasant looking woman with a 12 or 18 month old son in a stroller. Once I rounded the corner I could see her a bit clearer. Her son was an adorable little “Dresden doll” (all you V.C Andrews fans should get an immediate mental image.) His pale skin was flushed and his cheeks were red. He looked tired and limp. His blond curls were plastered to his head with sweat. I watched her wheel the stroller onto the handicapped stall.

Timing is everything. It is funny how life deals her hand out to us all. Life is capricious, wily, leaving you ever on the edge of your seat and off guard. I decided to use the restroom before changing. A n elderly woman in front of me  was my last obstacle to emptying my bladder. A girl I noticed earlier traipsing about with irritating insouciance, walked in nonchalantly and took the next available stall after pointedly looking at the elderly woman and raising her eyebrows. “Aren’t you in line to go to the bathroom?!!?” I snapped at her. “Yes.” she muttered.  “Well why on earth did you let her do that?!?! I asked with exasperation. Several people behind me muttered outraged comments. And then as soon as the elderly woman entered a stall and a stall for me became available, the door of the handicapped stall flew open with a bang.

“Somebody help me, please help me, he is having a seizure!” she screamed. Her eyes had a helpless, frantic look that I have only seen in women during the transition phase of labor. Her arms were outstretched and her beautiful, darling son was stretched out across them. His body was bucking rhythmically, over and over and over. His head hung back and his eyes stared, fixed on nothing. Nobody moved as she pleaded, there was just sharp intakes of breath and moans. I didn’t even think, I just stepped forward.

“Is he hot?” I asked helplessly. She was in shock, all she could do was keeping asking somebody to help as she looked at him in utter horror. I grabbed her arm, all that came to my mind was febrile seizures, could a child have one from too much sun exposure? Not a single one of my 3 children ever had one.  “We need to cool him down.” I said as I led her through the crowd of about 30 women. We went around the corner to the showers, “We need cold water, please, someone is the water cold in there?’ I shouted. Everyone stood around like a herd of helpless, mindless cows, gawking and moaning. “Somebody call 911 please!” I yelled.

He never stop convulsing, not for one second. Now that I was right next to her I could see how precious he was. Big dark, blue eyes framed with long, golden lashes. Rosebud lips, button nose, shaking, shaking body. Oh dear God don’t let this baby die, please don’t let this baby die. Even though I am yelling and screaming for a shower the people in the stalls just open the curtains and stare at me and this poor child and his mother who is near catatonic with fear. “Is the water cold in there? Por favor , agua es frio?!?! I am screaming at a teenager staring at me vapidly as I try not to get hysterical. Somebody with sense grabs her and pulls her out and I quickly push mom in. “We need to cool him down, just get his body under the water, okay? Is it cold?” I ask her  as I stare into her eyes, trying to make sure she understands, trying to find her, calm her. “Help, somebody help.” she mutters.

People are beginning to freak, “Don’t die baby” someone cries out. I cringe. “Somebody do CPR!” another suggests. “Wait a minute! Nobody is doing CPR!” I bark. I spread my arms out in front of the shower stall like a defensive player. I place my hand upon his chest.  I wait until I feel his lungs expand and contract. I wait until I feel his heart, thrumming like hummingbird wings below my fingertips. “He is still breathing and his heart is still beating.” I say to myself. “He is still breathing and his heart is still beating, everything is going to be okay.” I say to the mother as I look her in the eye. I want to pray but I am afraid it will come across as last rites, so I just keeping saying Jesus, Jesus, Jesus under my breath as his little tiny heart gallops under my fingertips.

After an eternity a paramedic cuts through the ever encroaching crowd. “He is having a seizure.” I say to him as I step away. I walk past a melange of female faces, young, old, dark, light, fat, and thin. A crowd of people, not one medical professional, not one cool or level head? I walk outdoors into the glaring sunlight. I can’t forget his face or the feeling of waiting for his next breath. Two strangers are now etched into my mind. I do not wait to find out if he is okay. I just had to get away. My husband approaches me and immediately sees my shell-shocked expression. “What happened, why didn’t you change?” he asks. I lean into his chest as he holds my shoulders and I try to relay what happened.

When we got home I googled “infant seizures” because I was gripped by an irrational fear that I had done something to endanger his life. If his seizure wasn’t heat related the water wasn’t necessary, but it didn’t do any harm. I still continue to love and abhor mankind simultaneously. I hope the lil guy is ok.

alice32a

Alice did not much like keeping so close to her: first, because the Duchess was very ugly; and secondly, because she was exactly the right height to rest her chin upon Alice’s shoulder, and it was an uncomfortably sharp chin. However, she did not like to be rude, so she bore it as well as she could.

`The game’s going on rather better now,’ she said, by way of keeping up the conversation a little.

`’Tis so,’ said the Duchess: `and the moral of that is–”Oh, ’tis love, ’tis love, that makes the world go round!”‘

`Somebody said,’ Alice whispered, `that it’s done by everybody minding their own business!’

`Ah, well! It means much the same thing,’ said the Duchess, digging her sharp little chin into Alice’s shoulder as she added, `and the moral of that is–”Take care of the sense, and the sounds will take care of themselves.”‘

`How fond she is of finding morals in things!’ Alice thought to herself.

Pig and Pepper (Day 5)

•July 6, 2009 • 2 Comments

Yesterday was a wonderful day with my family. There were some moments of pouting, tempers flaring and plain old exhaustion, but for the most part it was great. I had three distinct, memorable experiences this weekend that involved children. There was a truth to be gleaned from each episode but I am sure I lack the art to convey it. All I really know is that each experience struck me and affected me in a visceral way.

On Friday I took my foster son J.A to the barbershop. For my readers that are not urban people of color, the neighborhood barbershop is a sort of social hub. The barbers are not only providing a grooming service, they are also confidantes and tale-bearers. The barbershop is a Cheers of sorts, it seems that everyone is known by name as soon as they enter the door and then everyone must be high-fived, fist-bumped or semi-hugged according to some hierarchical system that I have yet to figure out.

Getting a haircut at a local barbershop is a grueling and time-consuming process. On average you will wait an hour to be serviced as your barber alternately cuts the hair of his current customer, answers the barbershop phone and/or his own cellphone, checks out the sports game/BET music video/bootleg DVD that is playing on the flatscreen TV, comments on the aforementioned goings on, greets new customers and high-fives/fist-bumps/hugs them, inquires after the customer’s family/friends/neighbors, greets or throws out a neighborhood bootleg DVD seller, if the DVD seller is welcome, proceeds to look through said DVD’s……..As you can imagine I spent the better part of an hour and a half stewing silently as I read my Yoga magazine.

A woman came in with 2 sons. One of the boys was about 4 years old. They all sat down on the bench next to me. The 4 year old was sipping on a Vanilla Bean Coolatta. Suddenly he thrust the cup towards his mother, “I don’t want this anymore, I’m getting sick!” he said in a squeaky little voice. “What do you mean you are getting sick?” the mother said crossly. “It’s gonna make me sick.” he said.  “You are not sick and you are not getting sick do you hear me?!?!”  she said with such  intense agitation I looked up with interest and probably the beginning of concern. “I am getting sick.” he continued stubbornly. “NO YOU ARE NOT! Why do you always want to be sick for? You are always talking about being sick, you are fine do you hear me? Say I am not sick!” she barked all of this rapidly and I kept looking at my magazine and then looking over at them. “SAY I AM NOT SICK!” she insisted while holding his little chin and glaring into his eyes. “I’m not sick.” he squeaked weakly, his spirit seemingly broken.

I wondered to myself why she was she so upset about a child saying something so innocuous?  What if the Coolatta had given him a brain freeze? Or if he had a sensitive tooth? Or maybe a bit of a belly ache? Why didn’t she just ask him what he meant by sick?  Eventually they quieted down but then after awhile my ear picked up something of interest again. “Whoa, I almost fall down there!” he exclaimed mischievously. “Fell where?” his mother asked. “Down the crack!” he answered. He was speaking of the space between the back of the bench and the wall. “You are too big to fall down that little crack.” his mother said dismissively. “I wish I was little enough to fall down that crack.” he said. “Why would you want to be little?” she said. “I would get littler, and littler, and littler and happy and happy and happy.” he squeaked in a sing-song lilt. “Well you’re not going to get littler you’re getting bigger so you need to think about being big and happy.” she quipped back.

Now they had my full and open attention, I did not hide that I was eavesdropping because I could feel something big coming from this little squeaky boy, he  grasped onto something and I thought maybe he is just willful enough to drive it home. “Well aren’t you happy right now?” His mother asked with exasperation. His silence was calculated and direct. I  tried not to grin. I didn’t want him to get yelled at or criticized but I was willing him with all of my being to speak his truth, to be his truth for as long as he could before his mother and the world conspire to silence his truth forever. “Are you happy or sad?” his mother pressed with annoyance. She knew I was listening and she had to save face. Of course her son is happy and she is a good mother, it doesn’t matter if I just witnessed her berating him publicly. Of course he will answer correctly.

He waits and waits and I thought to myself, tell the truth, tell the truth, tell the truth. “Sad.” he said matter of factly and then smiled right in her face. He told the truth and negated it with a smile, thus saving them both. “You are such a brilliant little boy.” I thought to myself. “You’re not sad.” she said ruefully and wiped his face as if she could rub out the words. I think in his little 4 year old mind he was  bemoaning the salad days of toddlerhood, when there was less scowling and scolding and more cuddles. Or perhaps he already wishes to shrink down to nothing, shutting up like a telescope as Alice in Wonderland says and disappearing, returning to the immaterial place that he came from.

The title for today’s post comes from Alice in Wonderland….

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`Oh, don’t bother ME,’ said the Duchess; `I never could abide figures!’ And with that she began nursing her child again, singing a sort of lullaby to it as she did so, and giving it a violent shake at the end of every line:

Speak roughly to your little boy
And beat him when he sneezes:
He only does it to annoy,
Because he knows it teases.’

CHORUS.  (In which the cook and the baby joined):–

`Wow! wow! wow!’

While the Duchess sang the second verse of the song, she kept tossing the baby violently up and down, and the poor little thing howled so, that Alice could hardly hear the words:–

`I speak severely to my boy,
I beat him when he sneezes;
For he can thoroughly enjoy
The pepper when he pleases!’

CHORUS.

`Wow! wow! wow!’

`Here! you may nurse it a bit, if you like!’ the Duchess said to Alice, flinging the baby at her as she spoke. `I must go and get ready to play croquet with the Queen,’ and she hurried out of the room.

Happy 4th of July! (Day 4)

•July 4, 2009 • 4 Comments

Hello Loveys,
I am at Six Flags with my family,but I am taking
a moment to post from my “Crackberry” :-)
Today I am free from cares and worries, semi-free from anxiety (they’re trying to make me get on these rides but my nervous
system ain’t having it!)
I hope every one out in the blogosphere is free of something.
See you tomorrow….

Behind the Looking-Glass (Day 3)

•July 4, 2009 • 7 Comments

Went to see Dr. K today, we talked of many things/of shoes–and ships–and sealing-wax/Of cabbages–and kings/And why the sea is boiling hot/And whether pigs have wings…..

No I’m not delusional and we didn’t actually talk about that stuff. It’s just “Alice in Wonderland” silly. Jeez can’t a girl be whimsical? :-)

We actually talked of things that were of a more sordid nature and although I long to rid myself of the shame and embarrassment I have about these things I am just not ready to go there, if I can figure out an obscure approach that won’t horrify me or my husband I promise I will give it a go. I did tell Dr. K. that I called my Dad the other day, partly out of guilt for not calling him on Father’s Day. So here goes the emotional abuse, er, uh, I mean conversation.

So how are you doing?

Pretty good now that schools out, I really needed a break.

Oh, yeah?

Yeah, the five week course were rough and I thought I was going to lose my 3.85 gpa but I ended up getting a B+ in Intermediate Algebra & Trigonometry!

Oh really?

Yeah and the funny thing is all these years I thought I had some kind of learning disability in math and it really was just being absent all of the time. Maybe if I had the proper math foundation I wouldn’t have had much trouble at all.

Or maybe if you really wanted to learn math you would have.

But I did really want to learn, it just was over my head, I missed so much and I couldn’t catch up, so I just let it go.

Well it sound like you are doing great, as usual. When I say that, I’m not talking about the school stuff. That stuff doesn’t impress me any more, it doesn’t mean anything at all to me. I’m at a level now that I realize that titles and degrees don’t mean anything and they don’t make people any better than anyone else.

Wow when did you get on that level? After you finished your Bachelors Degree Cum Laude? Or was it just after I decided to go back to school, because of course once something means something to me that makes it ridiculous shite, right? Just like when I got into Buddhism while you were still a Jehovah’s Witness and you said it was foolish and senseless and now you are just the New Ageyish son of a gun in town aren’t ya?!?!!??

Yeah, Chosen Child is doing good, she still has that Office Manager job, I’m proud of her she really is hanging in there.

Yeah that’s great.

Well Princess, you know you’re my Princess right?

Since when am I your frigging Princess? What kind of a Princess? The one that makes out with frogs? The one in a coma? The one whose evil stepmother is trying to kill her?  Why the hell did I call this man??!?!?!

Yup, that’s right, your my Princess  and Chosen Child is the Queen. Well it was great talking to you honey, love you, goodbye.

The Queen, he really f*cking said that. He said it with a certain, smug,  je ne sais quoi that really put me over the edge for the evening.

As I relayed the pathetic dialogue to Dr. K  he winced and sighed. “Well he is on this thing now that when you take responsibility for things and you don’t complain or place blame on anyone then you are on another level of enlightenment.” I say, blinking back tears. “But its ok if he places blame on you for something that you had no control over” Dr. K. retorts with a slight look of distaste. I smile with gratitude, sometimes he is to me the person that  intervenes when a bunch of barely human, hateful children are stoning a dog or beating the stuffing out of some sensitive, fragile child.

It’s not your fault, I know, No you don’t, it’s not your fault, I know that, It’s not your fault, Don’t f*ck with me, It’s not your fault, yup the ole “Good Will Hunting” waltz……Except when we do this dance, I being the recalcitrant partner, never make it to the resolution. I always reserve the right to leave this matter unresolved, always holding out that maybe it is my damn fault. I’m just not good enough.

In the midst of this exchange I am reminded, out of the blue, of my instant outrage when my husband called me a “tease”. We were in the midst of a romantic interlude and he used “tease” during the pillow talk. I immediately tensed up and spat, “Don’t call me that! How can I be a tease fer chrissakes, I’m screwing you right now!” What my mind was screaming was -  nothing is ever good enough, it doesn’t matter what you do it will never be good enough. This really has nothing to do with my poor, bewildered husband. On a weekly basis certain words, movements and even parts of my body (my knees, my neck)  are out of bounds and verboten.

There are seasons where everything reminds me that my family of origin was miserly with their love and approval, leaving me ever the orphan with an empty bowl and arms outstretched…..”May I have some more, please?”