Category Archives: Humor

45

I have 45 minutes to write this, so we’ll see what pours out.

Today
I have a beautiful nine-month-old daughter who is pulling up and longs to stand by herself. She is starting to cruise. She’s becoming more aware and more of a little individual daily. Today I am physically and mentally healthy. Today I am in a secure, strong, happy marriage. Today I am able to stay home to raise my daughter, while Husband works at a good company at a job he enjoys. Today dinner will be a hefty ribeye steak with corn on the cob and a nice Syrah, followed by Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream for dessert. I am loved and enjoy a beautiful life. I feel I have found my life’s calling in motherhood. I didn’t realize this was the case, that this is what my heart longed for all along, until Bean arrived.

2003 – 5 Years Ago
On this day, I was in Syracuse visiting my parents and one of my sisters celebrating my 40th birthday. It was a lovely visit, and I felt much joy at turning 40. I resided in Austin, living with but not yet married to Husband. I had earned my certification as a Licensed Professional Counselor and, having “paid my dues” working in community mental health, I had a growing private practice. I had been blogging for one year, and in 2003 I learned a very painful lesson about what was appropriate for blogging. The lesson cost me three friendships and some deep family heartache. On the other hand, I was blessed by many friends via the Internet because of this new type of social expression and connection.

1998 – 10 Years Ago
I was attending graduate school full-time and working full-time at UT Austin. On this day that year I was arranging to get my navel pierced and deciding what my first tattoo would be. I was battling a serious bout of major depression triggered by a number of factors (working through the aftermath of a sexual assault that happened in 1994, grief over the untimely death of an animal companion, a romantic relationship gone bad with someone I worked with daily, the loss of community upon leaving a fundamentalist religion, a potentially violent scary neighbor upstairs who kept me up all night) — all of which compounded a physical disposition toward depression. (In other words, it runs in my family genes.) I was riddled with self-doubt and fear; I fought a compulsion to injure myself with sharp objects. I started Vipassana meditation this year, and this helped. Much later in the year I tried anti-depressants for the first time, and they catalyzed a dramatic improvement in my well-being.

1993 – 15 Years Ago
On this day I celebrated with friends. Co-workers bought me roses, cake, and funny balloons. On my 30th birthday I embraced a new decade. My twenties had been difficult, shrouded with depression, financial problems, confusion about my identity, and trouble becoming mentally emancipated from family dynamics. I had finally completed my bachelor’s degree at SUNY Oswego after ten arduous years. I was dreaming about a new life, which I brought about for myself in 1994 by moving to Austin, Texas.

1988 – 20 Years Ago
I had moved home briefly to live with my parents after ending a five-year relationship, because I was deeply in debt. I worked two jobs to get out of debt and save money so I could attend college full-time in 1989. I agonized over my age; every birthday in my twenties was an occasion to lambast myself for not having accomplished anything with my life. I felt time was escaping me and I was afraid.

1983 – 25 Years Ago
I was attending a business institute for secretarial studies (which I hated, but it was an act of desperation so I could become employable and independent). I worked part-time, rented a room from my parents until the end of the year. In December I moved to a room at the Mizpah tower in downtown Syracuse, a low-cost residence for women. It was a heady time, living on my own at last. I declared my sexual orientation as lesbian. I met a woman who became my companion and partner for five years.

1978 – 30 Years Ago
I was a fundamentalist born-again Catholic struggling to feel some self-worth. I was a loner in high school and had one close friend. I had poor self-esteem and felt hopeless most of the time. This was the onset of minor depression. I began writing journals in earnest.

1973 – 35 Years Ago
I was lost in a family storm. I won’t provide details out of respect for the privacy of family members.

1968 – 40 Years Ago
I was a cute little kindergartner who adored my stuffed animals and was terrified of thunderstorms. That was the year of social craziness with RFK and Martin Luther King Jr. being assassinated, plus the Tet offensive in Vietnam. I have an image from television news branded into my memory of an injured soldier with his brains outside his head on the ground. (It haunted me. What the hell were newscasters thinking?)

1963 – 45 Years Ago
I came into this world at 3:47 a.m., which explains why I’ve always been a night owl.

Life for me improved over the years. I’m aging well. 🙂 I’ve received many sweet cards and gifts today. I thought I’d share a chuckle from my brother.

My Brother, He So Funny

my brother, he so funny

Aspirations

At the yarn store I started realizing the enormity of the project. I was going to need almost thirty balls of wool. That’s a lot of yarn. That’s so much yarn that when I told the yarn store lady what I needed, she let out a low whistle and gave me a look that told me that she thought that maybe when I’m not knitting oversized afghans I amused myself by trying to pick up marbles with chopsticks. It’s so much that she had to go into the basement to look for two cases of the yarn in question. As she stacked the yarn on the counter she seemed a little incredulous. This should have been my first warning: When a person who sells yarn for a living thinks that maybe you’re buying a lot of yarn — well, it’s a sign. A different sort of knitter would have taken that as a hint. Me? I thought she was a knitter without aspirations.

–Stephanie Pearl McPhee, Yarn Harlot: the Secret Life of a Knitter

Please, Tell Me

To my readers who have baby-proofed their home, and in particular have installed cabinet latches — the type that you press down on as you open the door so it doesn’t catch:

How long until I stop forgetting they’re there and attempting to open the door only to have the latch catch and practically rip my nail off?

I feel rather stupid attempting to open my cabinet doors now.

Now

Increasingly I live in the time called Now. My days are full; as Bean becomes more active and engaged, the more present I become. Oh, I do think about future things (my tasks for the next day), and I find past ruminations intrude often. When I “come to” my mind gnawing a past experience like a bone, I stop myself and let the thought go. I’m sure this happens at least dozens of times daily. However, by the end of the day I creep into bed having felt I really lived all day. Besides, by bedtime all I am aware of is that it is time to sleep. I’m tired, very tired, at sunset, but I enjoy my life more than ever. I’m never bored anymore.

I love watching Bean when Husband reads to her. There are a bunch of books that we’ve read often enough that she squeals when we get to parts that make her happy. She’s sitting entirely on her own now. I observed as Husband sat on the floor next to her reading Barnyard Banter (a book we like so much I wrote a review for Amazon) that she squeaked with happiness and alternated between looking at the book and looking up at him. If there was ever a moment to feel adoration, that was it.

I myself am adored beyond my wildest expectations. I am desired, needed, demanded. Bean haaaates the new play yard. Hates it, hates it, hates it. It is prison. It is a place of betrayal and abandonment. It’s where Mommy puts Bean when Mommy needs two free hands and for Bean to be safe. The instant she is set onto the mat she begins wailing. I do what I need to do quickly and talk to her when I’m near enough. If I must leave the room I tell her and say that I’ll be right back. The tears aren’t just sadness. Oh no! She’s screaming mad too! Do not want! I’m going to report you to management!! So I believe separation anxiety has begun.

Another vocal development is what I call the Groan of Concentration. There’s a sound she makes when she examines a toy closely or when she’s trying a new move; it sounds like she’s softly clearing her throat, but it’s not a long “harrrumph.” It’s got a little staccato to it. Her repertoire over the months has grown so much. As a newborn there was the Cindy Lou Who coo. Then the Beavis and Butthead chuckle (which became a dulcet laugh). Then the Poop Shriek; she inhales sharply as though she’s watching a shocking event unfold. When we hear that sound, we know what needs to happen. And now the Groan of Concentration. What an interesting little person she is!

what?

The Hollow Leg

In case readers wonder (some do, and they’re basically relatives), Bean is much better. She is still snotty and congested, but the sneezing, coughing, fever and vomiting stopped. She’s back on solid foods and seems to be having another growth spurt, because today she ate a 4-ounce jar of peas & brown rice, a 2-ounce and a 4-ounce jar of sweet potatoes, and half a 4-ounce jar of bananas (with oatmeal cereal)! Plus 20 ounces (or so) of milk!

I tremble to think what I will find in her diaper tomorrow.