Tuesday, February 27, 2007

New Era

So. Chicken has her very first crush. Before you folks get all jacked up about her only being 6 years old, let me tell you a story.

When I was in Kindergarten, I had a boyfriend. A little black boy named Phillip. Man, I l o v e d Phillip! During boring lessons in class, Phillip and I would sneak under the desks and hold hands. He kissed me on the mouth once. Then I punched him.

Chicken's Phillip is the older brother of her (this week's) best friend. Crush is in 4th grade. I noticed something funny about a month ago. I was in her class after school doing some yearbook stuff when Best Friend wrote on the board "I love Crush" and she told Chicken "I'm going to tell Crush you wrote that". Chicken's head whipped around and she looked at me, embarrassed and a little afraid. I just smiled and continued counting money. A couple of weeks later, Chicken comes home, blushing. "Oh my gosh, Crush was wearing a red and blue striped shirt today. Isn't that so funny?" she said. I asked her if she liked Crush, she said nodded with the same embarrassment and slight fear in her face. We talked about crushes and how it's perfectly fine for her to like a boy but that she was way too young to have a boyfriend or any type of anything. She would have plenty of time to have boyfriends and hold hands, pass love notes, etc when she got bigger. We talked about boundaries and when she could have a boyfriend (high school.). I hugged her tight and thanked her for talking to me about it. I talked more about how she could always come to Daddy and me to talk about her feelings about boys, school, whatever. I squeezed her again and let her know how proud I was of her; she's becoming such a big girl in front of my very own eyes.

Then Sunday came. I pre-arranged with their mother to meet Best Friend/Crush at a local Festival on Sunday @ 1pm. Chicken woke up at 8am, ready to GO! It was the longest 5 hours of her life. Finally, we are getting ready to meet Best Friend/Crush!! Chicken disappears in her room for about an hour and finally emerges wearing a tank top with a shrug-tie wrap and the shortest shorts I've ever seen on a child. I don't know WHERE these shorts came from; she must have been hiding them for a long time, saving them for a special day exactly like this. They were a size 2T, which fits her fine in the waist but were definitely Daisy Dukes! Baby got booty!

She must have read my mind because again, with the look of embarrassment and a little bit of fear, she tuned around, came out 20 minutes later wearing capri pants. And pale pink lipstick.

I can't win them all.

Damn Cycle!

I'm very grumpy today. I think I got up on the wrong side of the bed. Of course, there is only one side to the bed as "my" side is against the wall. Perhaps that's the problem. One side of the bed. If I had two sides, then I'd have options. I like options. I need options. Must. Move. Bed.
I digress. Everyone is pissing me off. I've got a wicked look in my eye that says "Anything you say will cause me to kick you". Perhaps it's not a great idea to have 2 cups of espresso within 30 minutes of waking. And another on the way to school/work. In my defense, the espresso is good. I mean, trade-espresso-for-sex-good. In my brand-new, very fancy-shmancy, self doing coffee machine.
I feel like I'm running through a cycle that is never ending. You know, just life. Wake up, drink too much coffee, open Chicken's eyes enough to dress herself, more coffee, make lunch, check back pack, more coffee, drive to school, chit-chat a few minutes too long, race to work arriving 20 minutes late, make more coffee. Work silly monkey job, go to school, go back to silly monkey job for an hour, back to school. Home, school work (for both of us), cleaning, cooking, sports activities, continue my role as "Queen Yenta" with other non-Jewish friends. Wrestle, kiss and tickle child, threaten her with homemade cookies into the shower, bitch about and demand the toothpaste in the sink get cleaned NOW!, Chicken is in bed. I clean. I sleep. And hopefully, 5-6 hours later, I do it all over again.

See what I mean. It's just a-spinnin'. And I don't mean the records. I mean the wheels in my head.
What can I do to improve this, how can we make more money? Is she getting sick, I need to call the insurance company, must order more soccer pictures, must mail Kara's CD & Jillian's Nemo. Must call laid-up Aunt in Vermont. (If I were a cartoon, here's where the steam would come whistling out of my ears. WOOOOOOOOOOO)
This morning, in the midst of my grumpiness, I put her in the car and prepared to drive away. "I'm so lucky", I thought. This is the life I always wanted. The life I fought for and semi-maintain. Of course, the bitch inside pushed my (rare) grateful attitude aside but now that I reflect; I am lucky. Maybe not so much luck as blood, sweat and tears. Ok, mostly tears. But whatever.
When I was growing up, I dreamed of being a mom. It was all I ever wanted to be. I dreamed of June Cleaver, baking cookies, PTA meetings and cleaning toilets. I knew being a mom was hard and a lot of work and draining. I prayed for it anyway. And on mornings (days, weeks?) when I feel like there is nothing left of me, I thank God for answering prayers. For allowing me to give people the life I never had and fulfilling emptiness I grew up with.
It's everything I wished for and more.
Thank you.

Monday, February 26, 2007

Open Letter

This is an open letter to several people I know yet no one in particular.

To: Young Mothers of Young Children
From: A Young Mother of a Young Child
Re: Behavior


I know that you may have grown up in less than desirable circumstances. In a less than desirable neighborhood. With less than desirable parents. Me too. So I write you this letter of advice with experience because people all over are judging you. You say you don't care but clearly you do. This does not excuse your inappropriate behavior. STOP! You have kids now, babies who need you. You are no longer allowed to travel the tri-county area seeking the best parties and cheapest drinks all. the. time. Stay home. All kids need their moms. Even on weekends. Please close your legs and stop with the promiscuous (I knew this word before that silly song!) behavior. This is what got you kids you didn't want in the first place. If you must sleep around, don't let him stay over. Saying that your life revolves around your child does not mean it's true. Be home when your child wakes up Sunday morning, make her breakfast. Pop Tarts is not an acceptable breakfast. Hung over moms do not make for good moms. Don't take unappealing pictures of yourself and post them to the Internet. This applies especially to those currently locked in a custody battle. These pictures will be used against you in a court of law. You are no longer "cool". Being called a "MILF" because you wear revealing clothing doesn't mean you are one. Put your boobs away. You are not from the ghetto, stop acting like it. Don't let your daughter behave that way either. Stop teaching your sons gang signs. Instead, teach them to behave one class higher than your actual income. They will get much further in life that way. That's a tried and true method.
Lastly, love your babies. Because when you're all dried up and the "love of your life" stopped returning your calls, you'll only have your babies.

Sunday, February 18, 2007

Me Too

This is an excerpt from Rosie O'Donnell's blog at rosie.com in regards to Britany Spears shaving her head & getting a tattoo.
Something about what Rosie wrote struck a cord with me and reminds me all too much of my own life. Real life has saved me from many mistakes.

many moms -
of kids in ur sons class
want to shave their hair off
and get a tattoo
they dont because they cant
noone is there 2 watch the kids
what would the neighbors say
the pta meeting
would be humiliating
on many levels
real life
can save u
u have to -
no choice