Dec 24, 2012
Merry Christmas Eve, little guy. C:
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Merry Christmas Eve, little guy. C:
Lesson: The line between "cool mom" and "immature, bad mom" is thin.
Today I find myself watching Annie Hall and drinking coffee spiked with Bailey's Irish Cream. It's 1:24 in the afternoon. I love Annie Hall and Bailey's. I wish I had discovered Annie Hall before i graduated college because it's the kind of thing hipster college kids love to quote. And when I went to college, all I ever wanted was to be the cool, mysterious one that everyone else salivated over. It's funny to think that those were my aspirations now that I've graduated and become the type of girl who drinks in the afternoon while baby takes a nap.
But nowadays, I have no idea what to do with my new found love of Woody Allen. Are moms allowed to love a movie that openly glorifies weed and coke and premarital sex? I still support gay marriage and marijuana smoking and, clearly, drinking in the afternoon. Do all those things make me a bad mom?
One of the things I wanted when I was pregnant was to get this tattoo of an elephant on my left shoulder blade. It's going to be pretty extensive and probably gonna set me back 500 dollars. We need a new car, new washer/dryer, new phones, etc. so my dream for this piece is going to have to stay on the back burner. Yet I still dream of it and plan for it and talk about it quite often. Does that make me a bad mom?
I suppose it all depends on whose standards I measure myself against. For my grandmother, the success of my motherhood can be measured by the cleanliness of your kitchen, the output of baked goods, and the size of the subsequent weight that gathers around your midsection. For my mother I'd have to say her personal scale comes in the quantity of times she participates in blatant self refusal of all things she desires only for herself. And my own scale of my ability to mother? The hours I go without wanting to hang up my nursing apron and hightail it the fuck out of here (that was a joke).
I guess I'm really not sure yet. Let's play a game and let this be my first, true interactive post.
How do you measure motherhood?
Lesson: Being Tired Makes You Insane
The morning after a mental breakdown always makes the world look a bit clearer.
Samson's cold is clearing up. Right now he's laying on the floor and talking to the whole world in his little baby garble. Seth is sleeping and my apartment is, thank God, clean.
Whenever something isn't going right, I have a tendency to blame Seth. This is a trait destined to rip apart my quasi-marriage at the seams if I'm not careful. It's hard to remember that my little bundle of joy is a miracle when a nine pound ball of screaming fury inhabits the body of my son, but he is quite the little blessing. Seth is a fantastic father; sometimes it's just hard to remember that when he isn't around because he works 40+ hours a week. And even without a college degree, he's still one of the smartest and sexiest guys I know. I mean, I have a college degree and look where that's got me. All college taught me is how to sound like a pretentious asshole and the proper implementation of semi-colons. So I have to say, Seth without his college degree is doing pretty well money wise and does support me on the worst of days.
So, lesson to new moms: Sleep deprivation makes you insane. You literally want to slam your head against a wall to relieve the pressure of frustration building up inside you. You remember the days when you were sleep deprived because of Vyvanse or wild monkey-love with the sex pot from your Chemistry class instead of a tiny screaming terror with a bad cold. I'm not sure if it gets better, but I do know it's definitely worth it.
In honor of what would be my one year anniversary, I’m reposting my love story and reminding all of you to “Don’t Be Afraid to Fall In Love”
Here’s the link—> LINK LINK LINK
And here’s a sneaky peaky:
I sit there with my brain falling out of my ears and my eyes gushing more water than my dehydrated body could lose when this kid walks in. I’d met him before, back when I was a stupid freshman dating a stupid guitarist at the college. But all I remember is that he had a strong inclination to jump out and off of things. He had a motorcycle, too, I think.
He stares at me for a long time before he sits down across from me next to this girl who hates me. I tell him hello, in a “I’m hungover and feel like shit but society expects me to be cordial” type of way.
He smiles this huge grin. “Where do I know you from? I look at him. In front of the whole class, I answer, with much class, “I used to fuck [insert the stupid guitarist’s name].” I am not good at flirting when I am not drunk.
But he does not sway. He asks my name, which I give and not-so-secretly turn away from him. I count the minutes (in my very uncomfortable position from trying to keep him from talking to me) until the Old Man releases us. Damn it, though, he follows me.
“What’s your name again?” He asks. He is running to catch up.
I’m tempted, but I don’t say “Fuck off”. I tell him my name again and light my cigarette.
“What do you do for fun here?” He asks sincerely. “I just moved back from Auburn and its been a long time since I’ve hung out here.”
I look at him. “I do drugs and have sex.”
He doesn’t even blink. He just smiles like he’s somehow amused.
If only he knew I weren’t kidding.
“What are you doing now?” He asks.
I frown up at him from the bench I have collapsed on. My head is murdering me.
”I’ve got work in an hour.”
He sits next to me despite the fact that my Camel is getting smoke in his eyes.
“What about after?”
Before I can say anything to this obvious come on, he says,
“Come on, I’ve got a pool and,
a shit
ton
of mac and cheese,” “
GO READ IT!!! I WILL LOVE YOU SO SO MUCH!!
(Thank you so much for those of you that have been with me since I posted this piece. It was my first big piece and I appreciate all of my followers)
In honor of what would be my one year anniversary, I'm reposting my love story and reminding all of you to "Don't Be Afraid to Fall In Love"
Here's the link--> LINK LINK LINK
And here's a sneaky peaky:
I sit there with my brain falling out of my ears and my eyes gushing more water than my dehydrated body could lose when this kid walks in. I’d met him before, back when I was a stupid freshman dating a stupid guitarist at the college. But all I remember is that he had a strong inclination to jump out and off of things. He had a motorcycle, too, I think.
He stares at me for a long time before he sits down across from me next to this girl who hates me. I tell him hello, in a “I’m hungover and feel like shit but society expects me to be cordial” type of way.
He smiles this huge grin. “Where do I know you from? I look at him. In front of the whole class, I answer, with much class, “I used to fuck [insert the stupid guitarist’s name].” I am not good at flirting when I am not drunk.
But he does not sway. He asks my name, which I give and not-so-secretly turn away from him. I count the minutes (in my very uncomfortable position from trying to keep him from talking to me) until the Old Man releases us. Damn it, though, he follows me.
“What’s your name again?” He asks. He is running to catch up.
I’m tempted, but I don’t say “Fuck off”. I tell him my name again and light my cigarette.
“What do you do for fun here?” He asks sincerely. “I just moved back from Auburn and its been a long time since I’ve hung out here.”
I look at him. “I do drugs and have sex.”
He doesn’t even blink. He just smiles like he’s somehow amused.
If only he knew I weren’t kidding.
“What are you doing now?” He asks.
I frown up at him from the bench I have collapsed on. My head is murdering me.
”I’ve got work in an hour.”
He sits next to me despite the fact that my Camel is getting smoke in his eyes.
“What about after?”
Before I can say anything to this obvious come on, he says,
“Come on, I’ve got a pool and,
a shit
ton
of mac and cheese,” "
GO READ IT!!! I WILL LOVE YOU SO SO MUCH!! (By the way, I will be reposting this same shit later)
Lesson : Families Can Suck, Part I
July 2011.
I shove the outrageously overstuffed bookshelf against my wall. It's two weeks until I go back for my senior year of college and I am super stoked and ready to be done forever with school in general. But until then, I've filled my time with redecorating my room at my folk's house. The bookshelf shakes frighteningly, and then settles.
Whew.
Then the garage door slams beneath me, and the books fall forward, unsettled by the force of pushing around the shelf.
Damn it.
I kneel down to fix the mess.
Annika, my little sister, runs into my room.
"Mom and Dad are fighting." She says.
"What? Why?"
"David. He got a job in Pennsylvania."
[backstory]
Oh, shit.
"FUCK. Are you serious???"
Annika nodded. "Mom said 'fuck' twice."
My mother does not cuss. I mean ever. She doesn't even like to say poop or suck.
"What the fuck?"
My parent's yelling grows louder.
My sister grabs my wrist and we huddle in the stairwell, listening to their fighting.
I am almost 21 and my sister 17, but still, we huddle like we did when we were little girls, Annika a little closer, a little bolder, and me hiding farther back.
"Stop lying to me! I'll divorce you first!!" My mom yells.
"What the fuck do you want me to do???" My dad yells back.
We listen to their fighting, before it ends with my dad leaving. My sister and I analyze their responses to one another, trying to find out which one is lying and which one is telling the truth.
We wait until the yelling subsides and my mother comes up the stairs.
Lesson : If you found it at the frat house.....don't drink it, Part III
My eyeballs are pressed into glass.
Somehow I end up sitting next to Kyle on the floor.
Chery takes the whiskey from me.
"Hey Chery, can my boyfriend come over?" Sunshine asks.
"fuck no!" I yell/slur.
Sunshine looks at me, shocked and confused.
Whiskey has disabled all neurons and it's only in hindsight that I know I was being a bitch.
"Shut the fuck up." She says and leaves.
{Here is when Layla semi blacks out--reports say I made an idiot of myself which I don't doubt}
I lay on the ground, arching my back and sucking on a cigarette as it rains hot ash on me.
"Layla!" Chery rubs off my shoulder that I just covered in ash.
"Is she okay?" Someone asks.
"She needs to go home."
"Lemme take her." Shag says.
"No." Kyle says, lemme take her.
He stands and grasps my hands and I collapse in on myself, giggling.
"Let's go."
Kyle somehow gets me to my feet and we walk/stumble to my dorm.
Lesson: If you found it in the frat house....don't drink it.
September 2009.
Shag pulls a handle of whiskey from his tweed jacket. His twelve million rings clang against the glass bottle.
Chery looks at me and licks the paper on her self rolled cigarette shut.
"Wanna join us tonight?" She asks, looking at Sunshine and I.
I glance at her. I inhale on my cigarette, ignoring the pinch that is ever present when I went from three to fifteen cigarettes a day.
Sunshine shrugs. "I'll come, I don't really wanna drink though."
Chery looks at me.
"Where'd you even get that?" I asked Shag.
"I found it at the ODP house." He says, puffing on his cigar. "I was passed out, drunk, in the bushes. I looked up and I saw..." he dramatically shows off the handle, cigar popping out of his mouth.
I looked at Sunshine. I've drank a handful of times in my life before this, mostly at weddings or drinking with my mom.
I looked at Chery. She's older and cute. Shag's a freshman, like me, but he has connections I don't. If Sunshine comes with me..
"I'm down."